The Sapphire Pendant (4 page)

Jessie raced back to the servants’ hall, but the hostess, Mrs. Ashford, pounced on her before she could escape. Jessie knew that one of the biggest dangers in working in your hometown was that some people never saw you mature beyond a certain age. For Jessie, the age was thirteen—awkward, miserable thirteen. She had become acquainted with Mrs. Ashford when her mother and sisters would collect the leftover food from one of her many parties to feed the homeless.

“My dear girl, what a shame,” Mrs. Ashford said in a smooth Louisiana drawl. She grabbed Jessie’s arm in a grip as impressive as her tall frame. “You always were one for causing scenes. But I can’t have you leaving the house looking like that.” She shook her head at the stain on Jessie’s uniform. She called one of her servants—Ms. Frey, if Jessie remembered correctly. She was a petite woman who managed to look bored, in spite of all the festivities around her. “Take Jessie to the guest room and give her one of my charities.” She turned to Jessie and pinched her cheek. Her face, the color of espresso and just as warm, spread into a smile. “No need to thank me, honey.”

Jessie returned the smile.
I wasn’t going to
.

She reluctantly followed Ms. Frey’s leisurely pace up the steps. They walked down a long wood-paneled hallway lined with large gilt-framed portraits of family members. Jessie despaired of ever reaching the “charity” room when Ms. Frey opened a door. Not a woman of many words, she motioned Jessie to sit in one of the overstuffed couches in the room, situated under a large window. She opened a closet and searched until Jessie became impatient.

“I’m not picky,” she assured her.

“Just wait your turn.”

Jessie folded her arms and tapped her foot.

Ms. Frey pulled out a flowery two-piece outfit, shimmering with glitter and rhinestones.

Jessie grimaced. “Don’t you have anything less…colorful?”

Ms. Frey laid the outfit on the bed. “This here outfit cost her eighteen hundred dollars,” she said in a rough voice that seemed incongruous with her small frame.

It looked like something rejected from the disco era. “Can you imagine spending so much on something so ugly?” Jessie asked.

“Well, being rich doesn’t give you taste.” She stared at Jessie critically. “If you want, I can have your suit washed once you’re changed.”

“No, thanks. I’ll do that on my own. Besides, I no longer have a need for it.”

Ms. Frey nodded, handed her a plastic bag to put her clothes in, and shut the door behind her. Jessie stripped out of her clothes and began to dress. She hoped she would be able to reach her car without too many people seeing her. The trousers were a little too short, but otherwise the outfit worked. While rolling up her soiled clothes, she overheard the women in the adjoining room.

“Oh, that looks great on you, Deborah,” a voice cooed. “You’re so lucky to have such a kind aunt.”

Jessie rolled her eyes. The last person she wanted to bump into just then was Deborah Wester. Deborah prided herself on being part of one of the oldest black families in Randall County. Her immediate family was middle-class like Jessie’s, but a number of her relatives were wealthy…old-money wealthy. Jessie’s family, on the other hand, was part of the small immigrant community that began to grow during the seventies. So although they called the county their own, to some they were still outsiders.

“Thank you,” Deborah replied. “You don’t think it makes my hips look heavy?”

“You look great in anything,” the voice said. Jessie recognized it as that of Deborah’s close friend, Tracy Richards.

“I know,” Deborah said haughtily. “Unlike some people.” Her voice lowered. “Did you see what Jessie Clifton was wearing today? I mean, she should at least get a uniform that fits.”

Jessie’s ears perked up.

“She looked dreadful,” Tracy agreed. “Besides the fact that she was running through the back lawn like a thief.”

“Did you hear what she did to poor Kenneth?”

“I know,” Tracy said, censoring her tone as if it were a taboo subject. “No class whatsoever.”

“I mean, it’s bad enough that she and her sisters are ugly—”

“No, they aren’t ugly,” Tracy delicately corrected. “Just plain.”

“Close enough,” was Deborah’s flippant reply. “I mean, if I didn’t have looks, I’d at least try to dress nice. No wonder she hasn’t had a date since taking her cousin to the prom.”

Both women giggled. Jessie felt her hands ball into fists as shame burned her cheeks. First Kenneth, now Deborah. Didn’t they know she was already aware of her physical failings?

“I mean, first, there’s her sister.”

“Which one?”

“The eldest one, of course, Michelle. She did herself a favor and forgot about men after her separation. I think she’s the smartest one of the bunch. She’s really clever, but of course she has to be, since she has no looks. Then there’s the crazy sister who believes in visions and herbs, but their father probably believed in voodoo or something, so what can you expect?”

“That’s not fair,” Tracy chided.

Unashamed, Deborah continued. “Then there’s poor little Jessie. She always goes around like she’s something important, when everyone knows she acts that way because no one wants her. I mean, she can’t even keep a job. No wonder she has to tell fortunes on the side to make extra money.”

Tracy giggled.

“Plus her entire wardrobe consists of thrift-shop rejects. Why would anyone go out with her?”

That did it. Jessie could no longer hold her tongue. She shoved open the adjoining door, banging it against the wall, and stormed into the room, ready for battle. “As a matter of fact, I can get any man I set my sights on,” she announced, with her head held high.

Deborah and Tracy spun around, their mouths dropping open in shock.

Deborah was the first to speak. “What did you say?”

“I said that I can get any man I want,” she repeated, enunciating every word so that she wouldn’t be misunderstood. The clipped manner in which she spoke emphasized her Caribbean British upbringing.

Deborah had been taught proper social conduct since birth—laughing coyly, standing like a pole, and smiling noncommittally—but in response to Jessie’s statement, all these teachings were forgotten. She threw her head back and laughed until tears filled her eyes.

Jessie ground her teeth. “What’s so funny?”

Deborah wiped away tears. “You were always so amusing, Jess.”

“Deborah, she’s serious,” Tracy whispered, seeing Jessie’s eyes narrow.

“Of course she is,” Deborah said, eyeing Jessie’s flowery top and trousers.

Jessie placed her hands on her hips. “Looks aren’t everything.”

“Which is fortunate,” Deborah said lightly, “because you don’t have any. Now, don’t get mad at us. We didn’t know you were listening in.” She turned back to the mirror and ran a hand down her ample hip.

Jessie knew that Deborah had every right to dismiss her claim. She was every man’s dream: curvaceous and exotic with her creamy brown skin, pert nose, almond-shaped eyes the color of acorns, and reddish brown hair that fell in micro-braids down her back. One could easily picture her being carried off by muscular men and fanned with large palm leaves. Tracy, on the other hand, could be mistaken for a life-sized porcelain doll. Her facial bones were delicately carved, as if a sculptor had taken special care; her light brown hair complemented her skin, and her hands and feet were childlike. Men rushed to accommodate her, because she had such an innocent fascination about her.

Meanwhile, Jessie knew that she was best suited for manual labor. Her athletic build would best be put to use building houses or taming horses. She had once been told that she had a lovely nose, but that had been the only compliment about her features that she had ever received. Her eyes were an ordinary brown, and her mouth was simple—not full and luscious or even soft and supple, just simple, like an empty fruit bowl, nothing to comment about. She had deliciously expressive eyebrows and a firm chin, but her hair was always an unruly mess, no matter how she tried to style it. But she wouldn’t allow the stark contrast in her features to shake her claim.

“I’m not angry,” she lied, unable to loosen her fists. “I just wanted to clear up one misconception.” She drummed her fingers on her hips. “I have had dates, and I chose to remain single.”

Deborah looked at her friend and grinned wickedly. “When’s the last time you’ve been out on a date?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Right. Because you can’t remember. This isn’t a big city, Jessie. Everyone knows what everyone else is up to.”

“Well, you don’t know me. Sometimes I go out of town and meet guys and have fun.”

Deborah toyed with one of her braids. “Do you do this before or after a game?” she asked, referring to Jessie’s sports activities: tennis in the summer, soccer in the spring, basketball in the fall, and swimming in the winter. “Most of the guys are probably scared that you’re stronger than them.”

Jessie hesitated. Deborah wasn’t far from wrong. She usually intimidated men. Once she had unintentionally humiliated a guy by picking him up when he had twisted his ankle. She brushed that aside. “Look, if you think that you can get any guy you set your sights on, why can’t I?”

Jessie thought it was a logical question, but Deborah rolled her eyes. The topic had quickly lost its appeal. “Okay, perhaps you could attract some lower-class guy with no teeth, who would take you out to Bob’s Fish and Chips, but you could never get invited to an event like the Hampton Charity Ball. The only way you’d get in is by serving the food.”

Jessie’s voice turned to ice. “I could get a wealthy man to look at me.”

“Not just look. Desire.”

“Yes, that too.”

Deborah snorted.

Jessie began to fold her arms, but stopped when she heard a tiny rip under her arm. “Okay, you don’t believe me,” she said, her competitive nature taking hold. “Try me.”

Deborah’s interest was instantly piqued. “You think you can get any guy you set your sights on to ask you to the Hampton Charity Ball?”

Jessie shrugged nonchalantly. “Yes. I’m smart and funny and…and…” Words suddenly failed her.

Deborah grinned. “And what?”

Jessie returned the grin. “Charming.”

“Charming?” Deborah repeated the word as if it were foreign.

“Yes, I can be very charming. Charm has nothing to do with looks, and it draws men like honey.” She had never tried it, but she assumed it was true.

“You’re wrong. Charm has everything to do with looks. It’s a certain glance. A sly grin.”

“No, it’s about honeyed phrases and compliments. I bet, if given the chance, I could charm any attractive, eligible man I wanted.”

Deborah tapped her cheek. “And I was afraid this summer would be boring.” She glanced at the clock and grinned. “Okay, then the next guy that asks me to dance is your target.”

“But you have—” Tracy began.

Deborah tossed a skirt at Tracy. “Hang this up for me, will you?” She turned to Jessie. “He can’t know anything about this. I don’t want it to turn into a pity date.”

“Of course,” Jessie said, offended.

“I want to see if you can get a wealthy guy to ask you to the Hampton Charity Ball.”

“Is this a bet?”

“Absolutely.”

Jessie thoughtfully chewed on her nails. “What do I get if I win?”

Deborah studied her for a moment. “You know, someone saw you coming out of Aunt Rhonda’s art room.”

“So?”

“Are you still pining after that little pendant your father sold?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It is—if you really want it. I heard my aunt was considering giving it to the Historical Society for their museum, but I could talk to her.”

Jessie paused. “What do you mean?”

“If you win this little wager, the Sapphire Pendant will be yours.”

A sweet rush of anticipation swept over her. “You could get it for me?”

“I can get anything I want.”

She held out her hand. “You’re on.”

Deborah pointed a manicured finger at her. “But if you lose, you have to be
my
housekeeper for a year. And all my housekeepers wear uniforms, but of course you’re used to wearing uniforms.”

Jessie continued to hold out her hand. “I’m waiting.”

Deborah shook her hand, then glanced at Jessie’s outfit, an amused grin on her lips. “You almost look good in that. Put your shoes on and meet us downstairs in the courtyard.”

“Fine.”

Jessie went back in the guest room and rolled up her old clothes. She tried to smooth her hair back, but a few strands were determined to break free, so she gave up. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. She knew that she looked ridiculous, like she had fallen into a flower bed and the weeds had attacked her, but she didn’t have time to find something else. She stuffed her soiled clothes in the plastic bag and headed downstairs.

She found Deborah and Tracy in the courtyard, as agreed. Deborah was putting on lipstick, while Tracy shaped her nails. Two men collided into each other when Deborah crossed her legs, her skirt falling away to reveal her creamy thighs. Another man crashed into a plant when Tracy looked up at him and winked. Jessie’s heart began to pound, threatening to beat her to death for her foolishness. What had she been thinking? Why had she allowed her temper to give her false confidence? There was no way she could charm some man unless he was under the age of eight.

She walked towards them, her bravado severely shaken. There had to be a way to save her pride. Could she plead temporary insanity?

Deborah and Tracy stood up when they saw her approach.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Tracy asked, reading Jessie’s anxious expression.

Deborah nudged her friend in the ribs. She would not allow Jessie any excuses not to her humiliate herself. “Of course she does, don’t you?”

It was Deborah’s smug tone that prompted her next words. “Without a doubt,” she replied. She inwardly swore, knowing she’d lost her last chance to withdraw.

“Excellent.” She looped her arm through Jessie’s as if they were old friends instead of enemies. “Now, as I am sure you know, picking out the right man is a science.” She paused and looked at Jessie expectantly. Jessie obediently nodded, though she didn’t know what Deborah was talking about. “I tend to stay away from men standing near the bar.”