Magnolia City (7 page)

Hetty shook her head to rout out the tapping and sat down at her desk. She reached for the tortoiseshell pen her father had given her last Christmas—typical of the kind of “practical” gifts she always got. She filled it with midnight blue ink and slid out a few sheets of her linen rag stationery with the deep blue monogram. She smiled when she saw the letters EAA. Finally things had turned her way. A man had actually favored Esther Ardra over Charlotte Baldwin. Lamar had chosen
her.
The subtle odor of tulips and anemones wafted across the room. She let the fragrance fill her with a deep delight. Orange light fell across her desk. Happiness was finally within reach. But then she remembered Charlotte’s swollen eyes and wondered—how can it be perfect happiness when it’s at someone else’s expense?

By dinnertime, Hetty had written an acceptance to Rachel Rusk and a thank-you card to Lamar for the flowers. The gamey taste of glue slid over her tongue as she licked the linen envelopes and sealed them. She left both on the silver tray in the foyer for Pick to hand deliver, then went down to the solarium for a smoke. When she returned to her room, she found a letter that had been slipped under her door. It read:

Hetty filled her pen with more midnight blue ink and answered it immediately:

Hetty folded the letter into one of her monogrammed envelopes and threaded it under Charlotte’s door, which had been kept shut all day. She stood there in the dim hallway listening for any response from inside. There was none. She started to knock on the door, then hesitated. Even though she’d agreed in the letter not to talk to Charlotte, she longed to slip into the room and curl up among the eyelet laces for a tête-à-tête. She remembered what it had been like being sisters before things had gone so sour between them. A Spanish song rose up in her memory, one that Lina sang to them.
Cielito lindo, dame un abrazo
. “Pretty little darling, give me a hug.” Lina would sing it over and over—
cielito lindo, cielito lindo
—and they would dance together holding hands, then break apart and run over one at a time to embrace her. They liked dancing in the sunlight that seemed to stream endlessly through the nursery window in the old Allen manse when they still lived downtown. They’d been true playmates for each other back in those days, skipping between their giant Victorian dollhouse and their Humpty Dumpty Circus Tent, racing their Spinaway Coasters up and down the hallways laughing. The hallways seemed endless . . . and so did their childhood.

But it wasn’t, they soon found out. Flood season hit one fall, and it was all over. Day after day, the nursery window ran with rain. Hetty was sent off to grade one at the Kinkaid School, and Nella packed her bags and started traveling. In a house gone cold, thundering with a mother’s desertion, Hetty was left alone with Kirby and Charlotte pitted against her. What followed had forced her to adopt her best friend, Doris Verne Hargraves, as a sister substitute. It all started with the spiders—
but I can’t think about that now,
Hetty realized as she raised her hand again to knock. Her knuckles grazed the wood and stopped. The letter had ended:
I hate you. Love, Char
—so which would it be this time? Love or hate? She never knew and decided she didn’t want to spoil the perfect happiness she felt inside. She turned and tiptoed back into her own room, easing the door closed on the empty hallway. Communicating through the written word was just fine with her.

Hetty waited in the foyer for Garret’s knock, doing a final once-over in the rosy glass of the great round mirror. The alabaster clock had just chimed six the next Friday night, and she wanted to be sure she had pulled together a sufficiently vampy look. Her evening wrap of feathers floated up like a mist around her face, which had the necessary pallor slashed by oxblood red lips. Silver beads glinted on her head, making her look like Joan of Arc in chain mail.
These aren’t hats,
she thought.
They’re helmets
. She tried to keep a little nonchalance in her walk as she answered a light tap at the entrance. She threw the doors open to reveal him standing there, looking sharp in a navy club blazer and oxford bags. He tossed her a gift.

“What’s that?”

“Something you wanted.”

She jiggled it. “Hmmmm. Sounds interesting. Thanks, kiddo. Let me give you a tour before you have to run the gauntlet.”

The lights were low. It was the cocktail hour, which Nella celebrated nightly with appetizers and candlelight. They ended up in the kitchen, where Lina was putting the final touches on the hors d’oeuvre. The rich aroma of pâté and truffle oil made Hetty’s mouth water.

Garret sniffed the air. “Do you eat this rich every night?”

Hetty rolled her eyes. “My dad likes living beyond his means.” She showed Garret the white marble bath and her own room hung with chinoiserie. As they stepped back into the hall, she pointed at a door that was shut and whispered, “That’s Char’s room.”

Garret peeked into Kirby’s dark library, walked farther down the hall to the
postigos
. “What’s behind these?” He shook the heavy wooden doors.

“My mother’s secret room.”

“Is that where you keep your idiot brother?”

Hetty just laughed.

“Excuse the grape juice,” Hetty said to Garret. They were sitting in the drawing room with Nella, waiting for Kirby to arrive home from the bank. Lina hovered at the sideboard plating the appetizers.

“I’ve told my daughters they can drink once they’re twenty-one or married, whichever comes first,” Nella said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Garret said.

“Why don’t I open this lovely gift Garret brought me?” Hetty clawed nervously at the wrapping. Out of a blue velvet box emerged the longest strand of pearls she’d ever seen. “How swanky!”

“They’re from the Sea of Japan.”

Hetty looped them over her head. They hung down to her knees.
Well, that settles it,
she thought.
He’s no chauffeur.
She doubled them up. “Aren’t they beautiful, Lina?”

“¡Bella!”

“
Bella
they are,” Nella cut in. “But I’m afraid you can’t accept them, dear.”

“Why not?”

“She told me she’s always wanted some pearls from the floor of the Sea of Japan,” Garret said.

“I’m sure she does. That’s where the best pearls come from. But a lady can’t accept jewels from a man until she’s engaged to him.”

“But—why not?” Hetty asked.

“It implies an obligation she can’t fulfill. I’m afraid you’ll have to return them.”

Hetty uncoiled the pearls and threaded them reluctantly back into their velvet box. She handed it to Garret. “Mother has spoken.”

Garret held the box limply and said, “Sorry—I didn’t know.”

No one responded. Hetty felt her cheeks flaming as the silence stretched on, broken only by the tinkle of ice cubes. Lina excused herself to the kitchen. Hetty glanced at her mother. A triumphant smile played over Nella’s lips as she sipped her highball and witnessed Garret’s embarrassment.
This was just the sort of social blunder she was hoping for,
Hetty realized.
She’s going to let him sit here and writhe, the bitch.
“Aren’t we going to be late for dinner?” she asked Garret after a moment. She grabbed his hand and started pulling him toward the door when Kirb barged into the foyer. “Sorry I’m late. We had trouble batching up the bank. A teller out seven dollars and three cents. A goddamned three cents!” He planted himself in front of the doors, six foot three, two hundred and forty-six pounds, the candles casting a monstrous shadow on the ceiling. He towered over Garret as he pumped his hand. “Mighty pleased, sir, mighty pleased,” he croaked.

“I think I owe you an apology, Mr. Allen. For my blunder at the cotton carnival.”

“You’ll learn our rules soon enough.” Kirb wielded a Citizen’s Bank cash envelope. “Here’s another one,” he said, unbuttoning Garret’s blazer and dropping the parcel into his vest pocket. “No pay-and-pet for my daughters. That should cover Esther’s dinner.”

“Dad! Let us by, please.”

Hetty’s irritation at her family soon evaporated into the open air over the Auburn as they glided along the esplanades of Main and arrived at the Rice Hotel. Twilight was dyeing the sky a deep blue, and streetlamps were warming up the flickering shadows all along the ornate wrought iron veranda. Garret tossed the keys to a colored attendant and came around to open the door for Hetty. A satin slipper stepped down to the sidewalk, and all the lights ran to the snowy feathers that frosted her shoulders. White, too, was the lobby they walked through, cool and immense, faced with Italian marble and lit by the sparkling wheels of crystal chandeliers. The elevator girl took them to the eighteenth level, where they ascended the wide steps to a dance floor that unfolded under the stars. As the maître d’ escorted them through the glamorous maze, Hetty felt a little airborne, as if she’d already had a glass or two of champagne, when in fact she’d only had a few strong whiffs of Garret’s lime-rich cologne. They wove between cages full of twittering canaries and widely spaced tables flowing with skirts of white linen. Hetty spotted a couple of Blue Birds and some oilmen with their wives. After pulling out Hetty’s chair, the maître d’ struck a match to three candles of different heights, protected from the night winds by hurricane lamps.

They lit up and toyed with menus, settling on prime rib. They passed Garret’s flask under the table, laughed about Nella’s grape juice, and gazed at each other’s faces through a golden haze of candlelight. They discussed the future. And the past. She asked why Garret had left Montana.

“There’s no future there,” he told her. “Over two hundred banks have failed.”

“Two hundred banks! Whatever for? The rest of the country is flourishing.”

“Years of drought and plague busted the homestead boom.”

“You don’t seem like the Old Testament type.”

“Nope. Not me. I came to the Promised Land.”

“You mean the young man’s town?”

He laughed and lowered his voice to imitate her father: “Mighty pleased, mighty pleased.”

“I’m sorry about the pearls.”

“That’s all right. I wouldn’t want you to be obligated to me.”

“Oh yes, you would.”

“It’s true. I admit it. I had my heart set on paying and petting.” A cigarette danced in Garret’s fingers. “So you want to go on dating me?” he asked, as he lit it.

“I hope to tell you!”

“Even though Mom and Dad don’t approve?”

“I try to tell my mother nobody cares about that stuff anymore. It’s not modern. When I get stuck on the right guy, I’ll know it.”

He smiled at her, a long sweet smile. “Are you feeling the least bit gluey tonight?”

She looked away and raised one bare shoulder out of her evening wrap. “Yes, now that you mention it, a little sticky.”

“Think we could get glued together on the dance floor?”

“I think we could,” she answered and let the feathers fall in a whispering cascade to her chair as she rose.

Their prime rib grew cold as they moved among the other couples, dancing number after number, letting it loose for the shimmy and pulling up tight for the slow dancing, when Hetty felt as though she were being ushered through low-lying clouds as she laid her cheek on Garret’s chest and looked up to see the faintest glimmer of stars spinning by as they turned.

She’d always prided herself on being a little cynical when it came to romance and was amazed at being smitten by the very feelings she found so silly in love songs. Like the one being played by the band right now about whispering. She wanted to step up to the mike and sing. As if reading her thoughts, which happened a lot when she was with Garret—they were so in sync, he started crooning the lyrics into her ear, slipping his warm breath up under the beads of her cloche.
He’s getting through my armor,
she thought and tried vainly to resist.