Miss Julia Stands Her Ground (13 page)

Before the week was out, Hazel Marie and I were innundated with invitations. Even the postman commented on the amount of mail we were receiving, and Hazel Marie was beside herself with excitement.

“Oh, Miss Julia,” she cried as she opened two more invitations, “everybody is
so
nice. I mean, they don't even know me, and they're inviting me to everything. I can't believe it. Look, here's one to a cocktail party at Dr. and Mrs. Walter Hargrove's, and another one to a luncheon at Mildred Allen's. And she just had a tea! My goodness, she gives a lot of parties, doesn't she?”

“Oh, yes,” I said, somewhat dryly, as I looked through my own invitations. “Mildred's one of the town's biggest party givers. We have a number of other invitations, too, so much so that it looks as if we have something to go to almost every day up until Christmas. Now, as for this cocktail party, we'll certainly forego that. Miriam Hargrove knows better than to ask me to a function where alcohol is the centerpiece.”

“Whatever you think,” Hazel Marie said, her face flushed by her sudden popularity. “I just had no idea that people did so many fun things during the holidays.”

Nor did I, but I didn't mention it. I knew why there was
such a spate of dinner parties, luncheons, cocktail parties, coffees, receptions, and open houses, and it certainly wasn't because people loved to entertain all that much. I smiled grimly, thinking of all the women scurrying around to plan some sort of last-minute event with an anxious husband breathing down their necks.

Hazel Marie looked up from her stack of invitations and said, “What do you wear to all these things? I mean, these functions?”

Oh, Lord, I thought, from what I'd seen of Hazel Marie's scanty wardrobe, she had absolutely nothing suitable. “We need to go shopping,” I said. “We'll do that first thing tomorrow. Now, Hazel Marie, enter each of these invitations on your calendar, so you'll know when and where, and so you won't accept two things at the same time. Put those we're going to refuse in a separate pile, and we'll write all the regrets and acceptances tonight. That reminds me. We need to order you some engraved stationery. We'll do that after Christmas. I have some plain sheets that you can use until then.”

“Oh, there's so much I don't know about such things,” she said. “I hope I won't make a mistake, but I probably will. I know I'm kinda ignorant, but I don't want to embarrass you. You'll tell me when I do something wrong, won't you?”

That willingness to learn pleased me beyond all bounds, and I assured her that I would let her know how best to conduct herself.

 

When we entered the small boutique on a side street off Main, I thought to myself that there wasn't a bit of difference between a boutique and a shop, except a few airs. It was nicely furnished, though, with soft music playing and even softer lighting so the customers would look their best. Marilee, herself, hurried to greet me as soon as we walked in the
door, asking what I was interested in today and all but ignoring Hazel Marie. She changed her tune right smartly when I told her that Hazel Marie was the one in the market for a number of outfits for the Christmas social scene.

I took a seat in a spindly French chair and prepared to give my opinion on the suitability of Hazel Marie's choices. We were the only customers at the time, so as soon as Hazel Marie tried on one dress or ensemble, as Marilee called them, she came out and stood before the three-way mirror, so I could pass judgment.

“Not at all appropriate, Hazel Marie,” I gasped, as she walked out in a long-sleeved black dress whose neckline was cut all the way down to her stomach. I had to avert my eyes.

From the look on her face, I think she liked it. But she quickly came out of it and tried on another that provided the coverage I had in mind.

“Marilee,” I said, “what do you have that would be appropriate for a luncheon? And let us look at some dinner suits, too.”

Marilee was eager to please, taking clothes off the displays and running to the back to bring out some that had not yet been offered for sale. I noticed that Hazel Marie leaned toward the tight and the colorful, while I was determined that she choose the loose and the subdued. Not only was that my personal preference, but I knew that if she paraded around in eye-catching outfits people would talk about her even worse than they already were.

It took all morning and then some, but we were finally able to come to terms on what Hazel Marie should purchase. In fact, I had less trouble with her than I did with Marilee, who had quickly understood the type of attire that Hazel Marie preferred. The woman kept showing her one little number after another, none leaving much to the imagination. I finally had to put my foot down.

“Hazel Marie's not going on the stage, Marilee,” I told her.
“She's going to luncheons and dinner parties. Now show us something decent.”

When the decisions were made and Marilee handed me the bill, I was staggered. I had known that a half-dozen outfits would not be inexpensive, but my word, I hadn't realized they would come to so much. Nonetheless, I wrote a check without a qualm and hardly a tremble of my hand, for Wesley Lloyd had always insisted that I dress in a manner appropriate to my position as his wife. “Quality, not quantity, Julia,” he'd said more than once.

“Miss Julia,” Hazel Marie whispered while Marilee wrapped our purchases, “maybe we shouldn't get all this. I didn't know they would cost so much.”

Well, I hadn't either, but there was more at stake here than a check, no matter how hefty. Since I was her social sponsor, it behooved me to see that she make a good showing. In fact, the impression she made would reflect more on me than on her.

“Appearances are important, Hazel Marie,” I said, keeping my voice down so Marilee wouldn't hear, and repeat what she had heard. “Unfortunately, we are judged by how we look, and I want you to look your best.”

“Yes ma'am, I appreciate that, but, well, I know you're careful with your money, and I hate to see you spend so much on me. Couldn't I at least pay part of it?”

“No, I want to do this for you,” I said, while a scary thought flashed through my mind: If I'd let her do the buying, there was no telling what she'd've come home with.

We left with a number of boxes, then had to drive over to Asheville to find the right kind of shoes. I let her have her way when it came to that, but I'm here to tell you that three-inch heels would not have been my choice.

“I can't wait to wear my new clothes,” Hazel Marie said, as we were driving home. “I've never had anything like them,
and they're not at all what I usually wear. But I know they're right because you helped pick them out.”

I nodded and said, “You'll look lovely, I'm sure. But the important thing is, you'll know you're properly dressed. That gives a woman confidence, right there. Any remarks that are made will be about how well you're turned out.”

She turned and looked at me for a minute. “They'll make remarks?”

“It'll just be pleasant chitchat. You know, comments about the weather, if you have your Christmas shopping done, and so forth. Just social conversation. You won't need to worry about it. You'll do fine.”

“Well, I don't know,” she said, frowning. “I've never been to a ladies' luncheon before, or a tea.” She paused, then turned to me again. “What do you talk about at a dinner party?”

“Same things. The trick is, Hazel Marie, learn to ask questions before they ask you any.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, ask about their hobbies, their children, how long they've lived in Abbotsville, are they ready for Christmas. That sort of thing. And, of course, if you're talking to your hostess, you say nice things about her house, the food she's serving, tell her you like her dress, even if you don't.”

“I hope I can remember all that.”

“You will. Just remember, when you compliment somebody that person will always think well of you. The compliment doesn't even have to be true, and she may even know it's not true, but it will make her feel good.”

She nodded and looked out the side window of the car, thinking, I supposed, about her debut into Abbotsville society, such as it was.

After a while of silence, I bit my lip as a disturbing thought niggled at my mind. “Hazel Marie,” I said, “if at any time
when we're at these functions, anyone says anything to you that distresses you in the least way, I want to know about it.”

She turned to look at me, her eyes wide, as if she couldn't imagine such a thing happening. “What would they say?”

“Probably nothing, but what you have to watch for are these women who can make a slighting remark with a smile on their faces, so that you don't know if they really mean it or that you even heard right.” I smiled grimly, remembering a few instances. “We have a number of experts at that kind of thing, so you just smile right back at them. Then let me know who they are and what they said.”

“Maybe I ought not go to any of the parties,” she said, a worried look on her face. “I don't know what I'll do if anybody says something ugly to me.”

“Nobody will. It's just a few who might try to get in a dig or two. On the whole, though, they're quite well mannered, and you can rest assured that they'll be on their best behavior. You'll enjoy meeting them.” My concern was not about an out-and-out insult but one of those snide remarks that Hazel Marie might not even recognize. “Besides, I'll be right by your side, and I guarantee you'll have a good time.”

And, if she didn't, I thought to myself, somebody was going to have a loan called in, and then we'd see who was having a good time and who wasn't.

So, with Christmas bearing down on us, Hazel Marie and I went to one social event after another. I must say that the woman conducted herself reasonably well, given the fact that she worried herself to death before each one. She would get so wound up with excitement and nervousness that on one or two occasions, her stomach acted up on her before we left the house. All in all, though, I was pleased with her performance in the homes of the elite of Abbotsville. She was so openly happy to be included that even the most aloof hostess couldn't help but warm toward her.

I introduced her around and stayed close while certain ladies went overboard to make her feel wanted and welcomed. I would've given a penny to've overheard the less than gracious conversations between those ladies and their husbands beforehand. In general, though, I was satisfied with Hazel Marie's reception and felt that she was well on her way to being socially acceptable on her own.

Of course, it didn't hurt that Hazel Marie was the equal of any woman at any place we went as far as her attire was concerned. Seeing how she was watched and stared at, I was doubly glad that I'd caught her in time to suggest some caution about the length of the skirts on her new clothes. As
soon as we'd gotten them home, she'd pinned up the hems on every one. But, thank goodness, I saw what she was doing before she threaded a needle, and was able to talk her into a halfway decent length. Not that she was difficult to talk into anything; all she needed was to have some impropriety pointed out, and she readily concurred.

She was, in fact, so eager to please that I didn't have the heart to unleash the angry criticism that threatened to boil over every time I thought of what she'd once done with my husband. Well, not just once, obviously.

The only reservations I had, as we went from one event to another, concerned the amount of makeup she wore and that brassy head of hair. There wasn't much to be done about the color of her hair, because even Velma, who is not the most conservative hairdresser around, said she wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole. “It's already colored to within an inch of its life,” she told me. “And if I do anything else to it, it might all fall out. Wait till it grows a little, and I'll see what I can do.”

As for the makeup, I didn't know enough about beauty products to make any suggestions, although I wanted to. Hazel Marie loved color, and she put it on her eyes, her cheeks, and her mouth. And for a dinner party, she dusted gold powder all over her face. Not one soul said a word to her or to me about her showgirl appearance, but I was struck by the number of married men who seemed to want to engage her in small talk. My mouth stayed so tight all through one dinner I could hardly get a fork in it.

Even though most folks kept their mouths shut about Hazel Marie's looks, I must admit that Emma Sue Ledbetter opened hers a little. She sidled up to me at Helen Stroud's coffee and murmured, “Julia, I know you'll take this in the spirit it's meant, but your friend would have a better testimony if she didn't wear so much eye makeup.”

I looked at Emma Sue, studying the plain face that had
never known the least dab of makeup, and said, “Eye makeup, whether her amount of it or your lack of it, is the last thing on my mind, Emma Sue.”

“Well,” she said in the hurt tone that was so familiar to anybody she spoke to, “I'm just trying to be helpful.”

 

All in all, my crusade to force Hazel Marie on my friends and acquaintances worked exceedingly well. Hazel Marie never learned what had opened the doors of the finer homes to her, and I didn't intend to tell her. And if any of my friends and acquaintances harbored resentment toward me because of it, well, that was just too bad. Let them take it up with their husbands for getting into debt with Wesley Lloyd in the first place. None of it was my doing, for I had been neither a borrower nor a lender. I just used what was handed to me, as anybody would.

Actually, our two-week social whirl paid dividends at home, as well. No longer were there heavy silences at our dinner table with Hazel Marie and Little Lloyd casting anxious glances at me. We had plenty to talk about, and talk we did. Hazel Marie told Lillian, and she told the child, and she retold to me everything that happened at each event. She told us who all attended—those whose names she could remember—what was served, what the houses looked like, who had complimented her on her outfit, and on and on. She was like a child, starry-eyed and thrilled at her good fortune in being included in the celebrations of the season.

And the child followed every word that issued out of her mouth, equally caught up in his mother's happiness. It was like a new world had opened to them, and I didn't doubt but that it was. I occasionally found myself joining in with the rehash of the day's occurrences, laughing with Hazel Marie as she told of Mamie Harris's cat, who'd jumped up on LuAnne's lap and made her teacup fly across the room.

“I shouldn't've laughed, Lloyd,” Hazel Marie said, her eyes sparkling with the memory. “But everybody else did, especially when the cup landed upside down on the toe of Mrs. Broughton's shoe. She was so surprised that she kicked it, and it went sailing through the air, and, would you believe, Mrs. Harris caught it, one-handed. And it didn't break or anything. It was real funny, except tea was flung all over the place.”

The child was just as entranced with his mother's social life as she was, and gradually he began to offer comments on the occurrences at school. Before I knew it, we no longer seemed to dread the gathering around the dining table, but rather to look forward to it.

 

It became my habit each evening, after Lillian had gone home and the others had retired for the night, to sit alone in the living room before going to bed myself. Deputy Bates had apparently appointed himself the keeper of the flame, for each day he laid a fire, which we enjoyed while Lillian prepared the evening meal, and I continued to appreciate as the house quietened for the night.

I found that I liked to turn off all the lights except those on that expensive Christmas tree, and sit by the fire to mull over the untoward events that had shaken my life to its core. As our social season began to wind down, I was more often than not left with a bitter taste in my mouth, and it was especially acidic when I was alone in the darkened living room. I was of two minds about the way I'd inserted Hazel Marie into my life and my social circle. On the one hand, it gave me a strong sense of power for having forced my will on those who had either pitied or laughed at my wretched situation. Especially so since I'd rarely been in a position to have a say in anything, much less have occasion to ride roughshod over anybody who didn't please me. But on the other hand, the whole thing
hadn't given me the lingering pleasure I'd thought it would. Maybe vengeance should not have been mine. Maybe a meek heart was better than a proud one. Still, if I'd continued in my meekness, accepting whatever anybody wanted to dish out, I might as well have resigned myself to having Wesley Lloyd reach out from the grave for the rest of my life.

Sitting there, feeling the fire warm my near side, I wished to my soul that Christmas was over. It was all too much for me, what with Hazel Marie's happiness, and the child's excitement, and my own awful exertion to pretend that I shared their anticipation.

Ah, well, I thought, leaning over to poke at the fire, to do good is its own reward, although I'm here to tell you, I had yet to see any. Pastor Ledbetter often sermonized on the rewards awaiting us in heaven, but, with such a bitter heart eating away at me, I could've done with a few prizes to lift my spirits in the here and now.