The Sweetest Thing (11 page)

For Perri's sake, I agreed.

Spalding Smith was wearing Madras pants, white dress shoes, and a blue blazer. He handed Perri a huge bouquet of flowers, which must have cost a fortune, pecked her on the cheek, and turned to meet me.

Perri said, “This is Mary Dobbs Dillard, from Chicago. She's Robert and Josephine Chandler's niece.”

“How fine to meet you, Mary Dobbs.” He took my hand lightly in his and squeezed it as he met my eyes. He certainly was good-looking. Nothing I could contest about that. His black hair was slicked back from his forehead handsomely and parted on the side, and he had dimples that creased down his strong, sturdy face when he smiled and perfectly curved black eyebrows that he seemed to use to the best advantage, raising them in a way that took me aback. Right away, I felt reservations about Spalding Smith. Something struck me as wrong. He seemed too confident or too smooth or too certain of himself and his appeal to girls. It leaped out at me, and I wondered how Perri missed it.

After that initial shock, the way he took my hands and gazed at me as if I were the girl he was dating, I realized what upset me the most. His eyes. I didn't trust his eyes. They were luscious dark brown—“gorgeous,” the Washington Seminary girls would proclaim—with a hint of seduction in them. His eyes grabbed you and drew you in. But something important was missing in them.

Kindness. One look into Hank's eyes and I'd melted with the kindness there. Kind eyes. Eyes I could trust.

Right away, I didn't think I could trust Spalding Smith. Unfortunately, I could tell that Perri had already fallen for him real hard.

I couldn't stop thinking about Spalding's eyes contrasted with Hank's, and later that evening as I strolled down toward the Chandlers' lake, a memory came to me.

It was late at night after a revival meeting, and Hank was walking Coobie, Frances, and me back to our apartment. A man with a terribly scarred face started following us, calling out, “Hey, preacher man! I saw you up there talking about God. What do you have for me?” His voice was eerily high-pitched, and his eyes had a crazy gaze to them.

Coobie began to cry.

And right there in the street, Hank knelt down, looked Coobie in the eyes, and said, “You stay with your sisters. I'm gonna take care of everything.” Coobie was almost hysterical, but Hank put his hand on her shoulder and said, “Trust me, Coobie.”

She still hid behind Frances and me, but she stopped crying, just peeking out at Hank, who walked over to the crazy man and started talking to him as if he were his next-door neighbor.

“Tell me what you need, sir.”

Startled, the man stuttered, “I-I-I jus' need some money for food, jus' a little food.”

Hank handed him a dollar bill—I think it was the last cent he had—and said, “You buy yourself something to eat, you hear? And tomorrow night, you come to the revival and I'll bring you something more.”

I was amazed when the man showed up the next night, and when Hank handed him a bag of food, the man once again looked startled. Then tears sprang to his eyes, and he whispered, “You're the first person who's kept his word to me in a long, long time.”

Remembering that incident made me miss Hank all the more.

CHAPTER

9

Perri

Late on Sunday night, I searched through my closet three times before admitting the truth. I had nothing to wear to the SAE formal. “Daddy,” I whispered, “what would you say if you knew I didn't have the money to buy a dress for the fraternity party?”

I shut my eyes to squeeze out that awful memory that slipped in when least expected—Daddy's legs dangling in front of me. With a sob, I went to my vanity and picked up a small photograph of my parents from their wedding day. I brushed my hand across the glass, wanting to get beyond it to touch the handsome face of my father. “If you were still here, Daddy, it wouldn't matter that we had to move. We'd do it all together. We'd sell the horses and pack up our things in boxes, and we'd find another place and it would be okay. It really would.” I set the frame down, clenched my fists and tried to find something to do with my anger.

“But you're not here! You . . . killed yourself!” I strangled on the words, tears sliding down my cheeks, a feeling of profound helplessness engulfing me. “We'll be moving out of our home soon. I told Mamma I'd break the news to Barbara and Irvin, but I don't know how I'm gonna do it, Daddy. I really don't. You should see how scared Irvin is already—scared and sad. And Barbara is just all shut up in herself. And Mamma. Oh, Daddy, I can't even reach Mamma.”

There was a sudden release in saying those things out loud, saying the truth. Even if my father could not hear my words from wherever he was, I
imagined
he could hear me, and so I ended with a pitiful admission. “And all I can think about is finding a dress. What does a silly dress matter with everything else that's going on? But Daddy, it
does
matter, and it has to be the perfect dress. I need to wear a shimmering gown and be beautiful and fun if I want to impress Spalding Smith and his fraternity. And I do, Daddy. I know you'll think I'm crazy. I've never settled on just one boy. But I need to now, for the family. He's a good one to settle on, Daddy. He has enough money for us all.”

I washed my face, changed into my pajamas, crawled into bed, and fell into a dreamless sleep.

———

The next morning, my mood had lifted, but I could not concentrate at all during history class. I scribbled drawings of stick-figure ladies in long gowns on my notepad instead of paying attention to Miss Spencer's lecture on the election of a new ruler in Germany whom I had never heard of, a man named Hitler. Dobbs, always frantically taking notes, glanced over at me and whispered, “What in the world is the matter, Perri?”

“I don't have a gown for the formal. No money, and I can't show up in any of my old things.”

Miss Spencer made a clucking sound in her throat that sat us both up straight. But after class, Dobbs took me by the elbow and said, “I have an idea, but I need to check on something. I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

The next day, before English, Dobbs skipped up to me and pronounced, “If you can't buy a gown, then make one!” She said it as if she had told me to go outside and pick a dandelion—of which there were hundreds in our backyard.

“I haven't the faintest idea of how to sew.”

“Hmm, well, that could be a problem.” But she was fairly beaming. “But don't worry. I told you I had an idea.”

After school, instead of Jimmy driving me home, Dobbs whisked me to where Hosea was waiting with the Pierce Arrow, and in no time she and I were standing in Becca Chandler's bedroom, peering into a spacious closet. On one side of the closet hung row after row of evening gowns.

“My heavens, there are dozens of dresses in here!” I reached out and touched the silky material on a sparkling cherry red gown. “It's gorgeous!”

“Aunt Josie said they were all for Becca's debut summer. She had forty-seven parties to attend, and of course, she refused to show up in the same frock for any of them.” Understandably, Dobbs informed me of this with indignation in her voice.

“Well, it's an unwritten rule of etiquette for debut parties—you never wear the same thing twice. I've heard Becca was quite the prima donna. She had every boy swooning for miles and miles, and her dance card filled weeks in advance.”

“How did you hear that?”

“Mae Pearl and Peggy and Lisa all have older sisters who made their debuts with Becca. It's common knowledge among our group.”

Dobbs gave me one of her startled-but-in-control looks. “Anyway, I told Aunt Josie about your predicament, and she said you could have your pick.”

“Oh, I couldn't.”

“For heaven's sake, Perri. She said she'd be happy for someone else to use them. Each of them was only worn once.”

“But someone might recognize them as Becca's.”

“You're a fine one to talk. Haven't you heard the expression ‘beggars can't be choosers'?”

I scowled at her.

Dobbs rolled her eyes. “Perri, Becca is twenty-eight years old—that's nearly a decade since she made her debut. Surely no one has
that
good of a memory.”

“Oh, you'd be surprised. And anyway, the styles have completely changed.”

“You're being snooty and impossible, and it doesn't become you at all!”

I almost made a retort, but then I laughed. She was right.

Dobbs insisted I try on every one of those dresses, and it was fun, I must admit, lifting my spirits a little more each time I stepped from the dressing room into Becca's bedroom and struck a model's pose.

Dobbs surveyed me carefully, giving her opinion—“too short,” “a bit out of style,” “too low cut”—until at last she proclaimed one “exquisite” and “the perfect color of blue” and “finely designed.”

But what did Dobbs know of style?

“No,” I argued. “It's too long, and I don't fill out the top well enough.”

Ignoring my protests, Dobbs produced a tape measure and a pin cushion and went about measuring and pinning the dress as if she were a professional seamstress. “Yes, I can make this work. It will be gorgeous on you.”

“What in the world are you talking about this time, Dobbs?”

“My mother is an expert seamstress, and I grew up watching her alter the ball gowns of rich ladies. And Mother taught me a few things about alterations along the way. I believe I can make this into something absolutely gorgeous for you.”

And she did. Dobbs Dillard never ceased to surprise me.

———

It turned out that Spalding and I were very congenial. He pronounced me the belle of the ball and whispered that every eye was on me when I walked into the ballroom at the Georgian Terrace in my sapphire blue off-the-shoulder gown.

I took the compliment like a strong cocktail until I felt dizzy from all the attention. Loads of boys asked to dance with me, and then, every once in a while, Spalding came over and cut in and took me into his arms, and I thought I was floating, my feet not touching the ground.

My, he could dance! I was thankful for all the times Mae Pearl had put a record on the Victrola or found music on the radio and taken my hands and taught me the latest dance steps. She danced classical ballet, but she had an amazing sense of rhythm for popular dancing, which she enjoyed teaching others.

Spalding noticed. “You're a swell dancer, Perri. Where'd you learn?” He placed his hand in the small of my back and drew me so close it took my breath away. “Other boys? All your other beaus?”

I laughed giddily and proclaimed, just as if I were tipsy from drink instead of compliments, “Oh no, not at all. Mae Pearl McFadden showed me the steps.”

“Mae Pearl. Well, isn't that something.”

We danced until late in the night, and I forgot all of my family's troubles as I let Spalding spin me round and round to the sound of the band, his eyes occasionally catching mine with a dark look of fire in them.

———

May Day—the May Fete as we called it—came and went with its usual grandeur and flourish. The event was held in the spacious yard behind Washington Seminary, and family members and boys from nearby colleges and many important people in Atlanta attended. Mae Pearl danced as a fairy princess, and ten of us juniors were on the Princess Court.

Dobbs, ever true to herself, did not participate in the events but sat beside her uncle and aunt, her black hair caught up in long sweeping braids and pinned up with a beautiful golden clip given to her by her aunt. She wore a lovely pale pink dress that was covered in sheer lace and fell to her ankles. I recognized it as one of Becca's debut gowns, no doubt altered to fit Dobbs.

“You were marvelous,” she told me after the finale, grabbing my hands and squeezing them as only she could. Bless her, Dobbs was the picture of beauty and enthusiasm.

“I seem to recognize your gown,” I said, with a wink.

“Yes, what do you think?” She twirled once and then again, and we began giggling like little girls.

Spalding approached us, holding two glass cups filled with punch. “Whoa there, girls! It looks like you've spiked the punch in spite of Prohibition.”

Dobbs gave him a smoldering look and said, “How dare you accuse us of taking strong drink! Can't you tell we are simply inebriated with life?”

Spalding blushed slightly, gave a chuckle, and handed a cup to each of us.

“No thank you, Spalding,” Dobbs said with a slight curtsy. She gave me a squeeze and said, “Talk to you later.”

Spalding watched her leave, his eyes following her with a look of suspicion and disapproval and distrust, all melded into one. “She's a very strange girl, isn't she?”

“She is the oddest girl I have ever met, and I love her like a sister, more than a sister. I feel closer to Mary Dobbs than to any other person on this earth.” I think I said this as a warning to Spalding, lest he burst our bubble of congeniality with criticism of my dearest friend.

“You must feel lucky to have a friend like that,” he commented, but almost as an aside, almost as if he had to find something to fill up the silence that spilled between us.

I laughed lightly, sipped my punch, and said, “I do. I really do.”

When he took me by the elbow and guided me smoothly to the tables set out with tea cakes and finger sandwiches, I went blithely on my way with the absolute assurance that Spalding Smith played perfectly into my plan of survival.

Dobbs

I had never imagined that my sewing skills would come in handy in Atlanta. What fun I had looking through Becca Chandler's closetful of gorgeous gowns and picking one out for Perri's formal. Seeing my success, Aunt Josie encouraged me to pick another gown for my dress at the May Fete. I spent all of the Saturday before the fete altering a beautiful light pink tea dress—I had to take in four inches in the bust—and I wore it happily to the May Fete. But clothes can't make a person fit in.

It was a lovely day, and the Washington Seminary girls were worked up and giddy from preparations and little sleep and the success of the day. After the performances, Spalding Smith stole Perri away. I could not bear to be in his presence so I went and stood with sweet Mae Pearl and boyish Brat and snobby Peggy and tiny Lisa. Tall skinny Macon slinked over to us and said, “What are y'all doing here, Pinks? I'm going to find me a Gel!” She gave a wink and hurried off.

“A Gel?” I said.

The girls laughed, and Mae Pearl explained, “The older girls at Washington Seminary are called the Pinks and the boys who come to court us, well, they're called the Gels. And there are a lot of Gels here today!”

I nodded as if that made perfect sense and listened to them talk about the upcoming Kentucky Derby and the new luncheon special at the Piedmont Driving Club and about a movie called
King Kong
that was sweeping through America as the new rage.

At the mention of
King Kong,
Mae Pearl squealed, and little Lisa grabbed her gloved hands and said, “It's the most splendid movie in the world, isn't it?” They headed to the refreshment table, jabbering about a giant ape that stood on top of the Empire State Building, swatting at attacking planes, and something about how the actress Fay Wray fell in love with the ape, of all things!

Brat tugged on her skirt and said, “I'm not going to talk to any Gels. All I want to do is to get this thing off and put on my tennis outfit. I'm leaving.” I had to smile at Brat, with her short brown hair and stocky frame. Somehow, a long white “fairy” gown didn't suit her very well.

That left me standing with Peggy, who looked more sophisticated than ever in a slim-fitting off-white tea dress and a stylish matching hat. Her soft brown hair curled slightly and she narrowed her brown eyes, big as a doe's. She took me by the elbow and led me toward a little bench at the back of the Washington Seminary property.

She let go of my elbow and put her hands on her hips. Leaning toward me with her mouth fixed in a pout and her brow furled, she whispered furiously, “You are too much—coming down here from Chicago and trying to steal Perri away from all of her lifelong friends, the people who care about her. Do you know who Perri Singleton is? The girl with a thousand dates! A thousand dates last year, the most popular girl in Atlanta! I don't see why in the world she wants to spend time with the likes of you! So quit trying to weasel your way into this social circle. You don't fit, and you know it.”

I was too stunned to say anything. I gave a feeble attempt at a sentence. “I never—” But Peggy cut me off.

“Don't you try to defend yourself, Mary Dobbs. I know how my friend was before you came, and I know how she is now. You and your big mouth are going to throw her into something deep and dark like her father! I won't have it!” Peggy poked a white-gloved finger at me. “Leave her alone! Do you hear me? Leave her alone.”

I didn't have a chance to reply because she turned on her heels and walked back to the crowds of happy people standing around with glasses of punch in their hands. Shaking all over, I stepped behind the bench into the bushes of flowering azaleas and tried to sort out my thoughts.