Magnolia City (2 page)

Everyone watched as the stranger—with a defiant swagger—was escorted down one side of the dance floor. Hetty veered over to get a better view. His face wasn’t quite as suave as she’d pictured—a first rough cut at handsome. His black hair was worn sheik-style, parted down the middle and slicked back, the firm jaw clean-shaven.

Kirb tried to block her view of the interloper, but she was able to crane her neck to see his eyes. Crystalline blue, in spite of his black hair. The color you see when light strikes a prism. He locked eyes with her.
Finally, he’s noticed me,
Hetty thought. She was about to pursue him when her mother materialized at her arm.

“Esther, dear, stop staring at that man. You know what I’ve always told you girls: The eye is a sex organ. You’re being wanton and don’t realize it.” Nella spoke smoothly as she entwined her arm in Hetty’s and gracefully escorted her back toward the dance floor. She smelled of whiskey and roses.

“Why are they throwing that fellow out? Everybody’s drinking—including you, Mother.”

“He doesn’t look like he belongs here, anyway.”

“And we do? If they knew the truth about us, they’d probably throw us out, too.”

“Shhh!” Nella’s eyes darted about, but her mouth wore a gracious smile as she murmured, “How would anyone find those things out?”

“Don’t worry, Mamá, I may be wanton, but I’m not stupid. I won’t reveal your little secret.”

Nella’s fingers caught Hetty’s arm in a vise. “Ah, here’s Lamar. I think he’s wanting to fox-trot with you.”

Hetty was passed from one arm to another. Lamar led her onto the dance floor jingling, her kimono ashimmer in the pale light as it trailed behind her.

After dinner, the waltzes raised the pitch of the party a few notches, leaving the floor littered with limp bows, red sequins, and trampled black masks. Hetty skirted the dessert table, where the dancers, out of breath and hungry, lined up for slices of triple chocolate cake. They were all waiting for their parents to leave so they could bring on a jazz band and dance the toddle and the black bottom. Char had her clutches into Lamar, determined to dance more numbers with him than her sister. Hetty reached for a plate and toyed with a piece of cake as she watched the two of them flirting over by the bandstand.
I’m not going to fight with her. I don’t want to do anything to spoil our fun tonight. If Lamar wants to dance with me, he’ll have to ask.
She let a forkful of semisweet icing melt across her tongue. Triple chocolate cake was her favorite Warwick dessert, a little short of divine. One of the best things about living in a hotel was being able to order room service until midnight. Hetty often did, even though they had their Mexican maid to cook her chilies and moles for them.

Dear Lina,
Hetty thought,
she’s the only member of our family who’s not down here.
Hetty pictured her sitting alone in the kitchen upstairs with no light on, drinking and muttering to herself in Spanish. She’d worked so hard today getting all the ruffles on Charlotte’s crinolines starched and pressed. Hetty slipped between two chattering dancers, exchanged her half-eaten piece of cake for a fresh one, and pushed through the swinging door into the kitchen. Several faces with coppery skin stared at her as she passed, but Hetty didn’t feel out of place: She liked haunting the hallways of the Warwick, finding shortcuts and back ways that no one else knew about. A hallway was more than just an empty space to Hetty: It was a place to be alone, an escape from her parents, and a bridge to the world. Now it was taking her to her beloved little Lina, alone in the dark. She took the service elevator up to the eighth floor, being careful not to get the hem of her kimono caught in the heavy doors as they slid shut.

From the dim hall where trash was kept and deliveries made, she came into a passage that led from the kitchen of the Allen suite into a servant’s quarters the size of Nella’s closet. Only a bare bulb burned in the pantry. Hetty stepped into the kitchen and flicked on the light. There was Lina exactly as she’d pictured: crumpled over the breakfast table with a Carta Blanca sweating in a circle of foam. She was so short she looked like a child curled up in the chair. Pots dripping with sugar and gelatin still stood on the stove top.

“I brought you a piece of cake.” She slid the plate next to the beer.

“¡M’ija!”
Lina always addressed her with the familiar Spanish term for
daughter
. She lifted her head and smiled wanly at Hetty, her eyes swimming with intoxication and exhaustion. “You always think of your little Lina.” Her skin was the color of cinnamon.

“You shouldn’t be sitting here in the dark. Come down with me and take a peek, kiddo. The ballroom looks so swanky.”

“Lina would not be welcome. She knows her place.” Ever since being rescued years ago from the jute mills in
El Arenal,
the sand pits of East Houston, Lina was terrified of ending up back there. She was guarded around everyone but Hetty. “You go. You dance. Lina is happy when her Esther is happy.”

“I’d love to dance with Lamar, but Char’s monopolizing him. We were supposed to take turns.”

Lina scowled and hissed, “Miss Charlotte! Don’t tell her Lina says—but you should be queen,
m’ija.
Let me look at you.” Lina stood and motioned for Hetty to turn around. “I remember when your mother wore that dress.”

“So do I.”

She looked Hetty up and down and nodded. “
Si,
you are queen.”

Hetty laughed.

“¡Es verdad! Tu es la reina.”
Lina threw her arms open. Her head only came breast high as Hetty bent down to hug her. She made little cooing sounds as she swayed gently back and forth. Hetty’s earliest memories were of being rocked in those wiry brown arms, and she still liked it today. Only Lina understood the ache she carried inside; only Lina could soothe it.

Then she pulled back and assumed her scolding tone: “Don’t you let Miss Charlotte get the best of you. You go back down and you grab Mister Señor Rusk and you dance with him.
¡Andale!
”

“All right, I will.”

As soon as Hetty entered the ballroom, Belinda sidled up to her and murmured, “He sent for you.”

“Who?”

“Mac. The fellow they kicked out.”

“Oh, really?” Hetty said, trying to sound indifferent but wanting to know more. “That’s his name, Mac?”

“Garret MacBride. He’s got a room. And he’s got the goods. I’m so glad somebody does.” She was referring to a practice that went on at a lot of their dances: One of the young men would hire a hotel room where couples could meet secretly and share bootleg they knew was safe. “I tried to nab him, but he only wants you. What did you do to him, girl—pet in a dark corner? Anyway, it’s room two twelve. That’s where I’m spending the rest of the evening,” Belinda chirped as she drifted away.

Hetty wanted to follow, but the band started playing her favorite song, “Charmaine.” In a falsetto voice, the singer crooned the words that always made her want to glide across the dance floor in an easy rhythm: “I wonder why you keep me waiting, Charmaine, my Charmaine . . .” This would be a test for Lamar: He knew it was her favorite song, even calling her Charmaine when he was feeling amorous. If he didn’t dance this number with her, that was it. Hetty waited while one couple after another drifted out into the twilight of candles. Then she heard a jingle and felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned. He was there, smiling his crooked smile at her and holding out his hand.

“You better not forget.”

“Be nice to me. I’m the one who asked them to sing it.”

“You did?”

“Of course. Just for you, kiddo.”

Hetty felt a new lilt come into her legs as they danced.
Slow, slow, quick, quick.
Lamar pitched his voice high to sing along: “I’m waiting, my Charmaine, for you.”

It’s the other way around,
she thought as they opened up into a promenade.
I’m waiting for you to decide between Char and me.

After that, Lamar wouldn’t leave her alone. They danced until Hetty’s feet throbbed with delight, then he kissed her right there in front of everyone. This inspired a wolf whistle or two. She drew her lips away and murmured, “How come you always manage to get me into trouble, my little Lam?”

“Into fun, you mean.” He had that glint in his eye that meant he was plotting something. “Come upstairs with me.”

She glanced around to see if her parents were watching. “Stop it, Buster! You know that could spoil my whole night.”

“Not if you’re with me.” He pulled her off the dance floor and into the shadows. Pretending to head to the restrooms, they dodged Charlotte and scrambled up two flights of stairs.

As Lamar tugged her down the hall, she could hear raucous laughter from a room up ahead. A rat’s tail of smoke floated out of the open door. They lingered on the threshold, noticing the highballs tinkling in everybody’s hands. The crowd was laughing at Belinda, who was trying to lounge back on the bed in her wide pannier skirt. It kept springing up to reveal layers of lacy petticoats underneath. Hetty spotted him at the room’s desk mixing drinks.
Mac.
She wanted to meet him in the worst way but couldn’t let on to Lamar. She watched as he handed a drink to an underclassman, then moved his restive eyes over the room. They lingered at the open window, as if searching out the next bright spot along Main. The Twentieth-Century Jitters. He had them, too. Like he never slept, just kept moving through the night. Hetty itched to follow.

Then he glanced over and spotted the two of them, his blue eyes reeling them in. Lamar leaped into the room, his bells jingling. Everyone applauded at his entrance. He turned and gestured for her to follow. Hetty lifted her silver kimono sleeves, relishing the peril and delight she always felt in Lamar’s wake. She was about to step across the threshold when someone grabbed one of the sleeves and pulled her away from the doorway.

“Don’t you dare go in there,” Charlotte sniped at her.

“Why not?” Hetty jerked her arm away. “Lamar brought me up here.”

“He’s older than us. And a man! We’re not allowed, and you know it.”

“How’s Mother going to know? Unless you tell her.”

“This is just like you, Het, spoiling my special night!”

Hetty fastened her eyes on her sister, who glowered back. “And this is just like you, being such a stickler for rules. Don’t make me fight with you, Char,
please
.” With a toss of her head, she stepped through the forbidden door and ambled toward the desk, trying not to look too eager. The inkwell had been shoved aside to make room for bottles of Canadian Club, Gilbey’s, Johnnie Walker, and Four Aces. Lamar had already been served and was entertaining the crowd with Shakespearean riddles.

“My messenger found you,” Garret said.

“Yes—it seems I’ve been summoned.”

He picked up an empty glass. She hesitated, not wanting to acquire whiskey breath before the coronation ceremony. “You’re not one of those girls who drinks ice water, are you?”

“That’s not it. I’m here with my date, Lamar. Lamar
Rusk.
”

“Who’s paying absolutely no attention to you.”

This remark left Hetty speechless. She tried to fight back the blush she could feel steaming into her cheeks. “It’s not that,” she quipped back. “I shouldn’t even be talking to you till we’re introduced.”

“Says who?”

“A few centuries of Southern society. I guess you don’t have rules like that up on the frontier.”

“Southern? I thought we were in the Great Southwest.”

“You’re wrong, mister. Would they call us the Magnolia City if we were Western? You want cowboys, go to Fort Worth.” She pointed to the bottle of Gilbey’s gin and asked him what part of Montana he was from.

“I was born on the Continental Divide.”

She laughed and turned on the fast line of gab she’d practiced for such occasions. “Congratulations on finding No-Tsu-Oh, kiddo. Not bad for an old bear hunter.”

“What
is
No-Tsu-Oh?”

“Oh, if you have to be told, you’re not in the know. It’s the cotton carnival—the high point of Houston’s season. It goes on for six days. Tonight’s only the climax.”