What I Saw and How I Lied

by Judy Blundell

  “I’ll come,” I said.

  She shook her head. “Homework time.”

  I couldn’t believe she’d brought up homework in front of Peter. I couldn’t believe my parents had made me bring books to Florida in the first place. Furious, I watched as she walked off, her chiffon scarf trailing from her hand.

  “You’re a peach, Evie Spooner,” Peter said.

  And then he waited, just like in the movies, to watch me walk up the stairs into the hotel. When I turned around he was still looking. Behind him, my mother continued down the middle of the empty street, her scarf fluttering like some exotic tropical bird.

  Chapter 13

  All afternoon after the movie I lay on my bed and dreamed in a haze of heat. I built a future with Peter using geography and hope. He lived in Oyster Bay—a huge distance from Queens, and not just in miles. Out there they had lawns and big white houses and not a luncheonette in sight. But he had a car.

  It was cocktail time and Mom wasn’t back yet. I went to the connecting door and peeked in. Joe had changed his shirt and combed back his hair. As he waited, he smoked a cigarette and tapped his knee with his fingers in a constant Gene Krupa drum solo. He didn’t seem in the mood for company.

  Joe’s impatience kept rolling through the open door. I could hear the drumming, hear him stub out another cigarette. Finally I heard him pick up the phone and call the front desk. He asked for Mom, then grunted, which meant she wasn’t back yet.

  “In another minute I’m calling out the marines, Evie!” he shouted cheerfully at me.

  The tone in his voice gave me the nerve to ask the question I was dying to have him answer. We were stuck together waiting for Mom, so it seemed like the perfect opportunity.

  I hovered in the doorway between our rooms. “What was Peter like during the war?” I asked, trying to make it sound like I was just making conversation.

  Joe looked at me strangely. “Why are you asking?”

  “No reason. I just never met a buddy of yours from the war.”

  “He wasn’t a buddy. He just thinks he was. I didn’t really know him. That’s all I can tell you.”

  That wasn’t much to go on. I wanted to ask another question, but I heard the click of her heels through the louvered door.

  She walked in, her hair loose now and around her shoulders, carrying the ugliest vase I’ve ever seen. It was bright yellow and green, in the shape of a pineapple.

  “What in the name of Sam Hill is that?” Joe asked.

  Mom put it on the dresser. “A present for Grandma Glad.” She smoothed her hair in the mirror.

  “Bev, for crying out loud, it’s past six. Where have you been?”

  “I got my hair done. You never notice. And I did a little shopping.” Mom came over and bent down to kiss me. I smelled Life Savers on her breath—and, behind that, something sweet. “Arlene told me about some of her favorite places.”

  Joe gave a doubtful look at the vase. “She should get out more.”

  Mom went into the bathroom to change. “Well, you’re being an awful sourpuss.”

  “I wanted to talk to you. I have big news. Evie, this news is for you, too.” Joe gave a dramatic pause as Mom came out of the bathroom in her slip. She tossed her white skirt and blouse on the floor of the closet.

  Joe continued, “I had a very interesting afternoon with Tom. We’re talking about going into business together.”

  “Oh.” Mom crossed to the vanity. “Business.” “Tom is thinking of buying this hotel and he wants me in on the deal.” Joe rolled out the words like a red carpet. He waited for Mom’s reaction.

  “What do you know about hotels?” Mom asked. “This is practically the first one you’ve ever stayed in.”

  “Tom knows. And I know business. We talked it all out today. We don’t think we have much competition. Plus we’ve got a pretty good idea of what a swanky little hotel down here is like. We’re thinking maybe a dress shop in the lobby—that would be right up your alley, Bev. Let’s keep it on the Q.T., though. Tom hasn’t even told Arlene yet. And you don’t want to get the word out there until you’re set. You don’t want the competition to find out and grab your deal.”

  “Yeah, the hordes are gathering.” Mom began to powder her face. “And where’s the money going to come from?”

  “That’s the beauty of it. I don’t have to put up a cent right away, see. Tom can swing the price, he says. And then, down the road, I can buy my half out, bit by bit. After the stores sell and I get the money out of them, I pay off the debt load.”

  “How do you know the stores will sell?”

  “They’re a great investment!”

  “You said you were overextended—”

  Overextended. I realized that I’d heard that word before, back home, in boring conversations I wasn’t supposed to be listening to.

  “The new store in Brooklyn is in a dead location—how was I to know? The guy was a cheat who sold me that lease. What is this with the roadblocks?”

  “I’m just trying to dope it out, Joe. What’s the catch?”

  “No catch. Look, I’m sick of selling appliances.”

  “Already? You said it was your ticket to being a millionaire.”

  “There’s more than one road. This place is busting to develop. I’m sick of Queens—I’ve lived there all my life. Look at all the servicemen here, getting a taste of sunshine and orange juice. You think they want to head back home after this? Come on, sweetheart. Can’t you see us here?”

  “Big plans,” Mom said. She was looking in the mirror, but she wasn’t looking at herself, she was looking at the reflection of the window, out into the still strong sun of a tropical evening. It was like she already was bored with it, bored with this whole bright change that Joe was giving her.

  She married a guy who delivered soda and pumped gas for a living and now he owned three stores. We’d been scroungers, too, all our lives, saving up for new shoes, sewing ruffles on the hems of my dresses when they got too short to wear. Now here we were sitting in a suite in Palm Beach. All because of Joe. So why wasn’t she trusting his smarts?

  Florida. Could Joe be serious? I tried on the idea. It meant leaving Margie and my school. I was surprised to find that it wouldn’t break my heart. Margie would cry crocodile tears, send me two letters about how much she missed me, and then I’d never hear from her again.

  I didn’t know how I knew that, but I suddenly knew it was true.

  People like to start fresh, Mom had told Peter. Everybody wants that sometime. Even when you’re my age. Maybe especially if you’re my age.

  Peter’s father had business interests in Miami, he’d said. And he seemed at loose ends. What if Peter moved here, too?

  For one long moment, it all seemed possible. Now I was looking at Mom with as much concentration as Joe was.

  Mom stood up and went to the closet. She picked out her white dress, the one with the full skirt embroidered in black and red thread with flowers. She held it out. “Here, Evie. This will look sweet on you.”

  “Really?”

  I held the dress in my arms and hurried into my room to put it on. I could hear Joe through the door. I stayed close. I didn’t want to miss a word.

  “A little faith might be nice from my own wife. Maybe you just have a problem catching up. The war is over, I did my bit, and now there’s money to be made. I’m not going back to what I was.”

  I pulled the dress over my head. I zipped it up myself the way I’d seen Mom do, squirming to get it up from the bottom, then the top. It fit like a dream. I loved the scooped neckline. It was a day dress, not an evening dress, but still.

  “Nobody’s saying that. I just don’t know what Grayson gets out of the deal, that’s all.”

  I could see Mom’s point. Mr. Grayson and Joe were vacation pals, but what did he really know about Joe, and what did we really know about him?

  It could all explode in our faces

  I slipped into my new sandals. I walked out, hoping to
get a reaction, but Joe was at the window, his back to us. Mom met my eyes in the mirror and smiled, then shrugged. That was the thing about Joe: If you crossed him, he got sulky. Mom always said that he needed one hundred and ten percent support.

  Mom put down the brush in her hand. She looked at herself in the mirror, and I saw that it cost her something to stand up. But she did. She went over to Joe and put her hand on his shoulder.

  “What do I know,” she said. “I’m just a worrier. You know that. I’m sure it’s going to be swell. Let’s go down to dinner and celebrate.”

  “I’m not in the mood now.”

  “Sure you are, baby.” She put her head on his shoulder. With murmurings and coaxings, she got him to put on his dinner jacket and smoke a cigarette while he waited for Mom to slip into her favorite blue cocktail dress.

  He was in a worse mood now, though. “How was the movie?” he asked begrudgingly.

  “Bogie in bandages,” Mom said, waving a hand while she put on her lipstick.

  “And how was the esteemed-in-his-own-estimation Peter Coleridge?”

  “Cute kid,” Mom said.

  “He’s a two-bit chiseler,” Joe said. “I don’t want him hanging around.”

  “C’mon, Joe, he’s a kid.”

  “He’s no kid, and I mean it. I knew him in the service. You, too, Evie. No puppy love crushes allowed on that sharpster.”

  Puppy love! I was so cheesed I couldn’t speak.

  Mom shrugged. “All right, Joe, but we can’t avoid him completely. Tom invited him to our table for dinner tonight.”

  “I can’t do anything about that,” Joe said. “But as for you two, stay away from him.”

  I had always treated Joe as my dad. What he said stuck. He made the rules of the household.

  It would be the first time I disobeyed him. And I would do it without even thinking twice.

  Chapter 14

  Mom looked so beautiful and glowy that I thought I’d be wallpaper, like I always was, but that night started something new. Mrs. Grayson waved and said, “Ooh la la, look at you. I know it’s supposed to be girl-boy, but Evie, come sit next to me.” Mr. Grayson told me I looked “very lovely this evening.” He said it in a shy, courtly way that made me feel even prettier.

  Peter stood up and pulled out a chair next to Mrs. Grayson, which meant he would be on my other side. Joe glowered as I sat down.

  Peter leaned closer. “I guess I’m your boy, then, Evie,” he said.

  “And I’m your girl,” I said right back.

  There I was, right at the dinner table, in a grown-up dress. Candles were lit, the windows were open to catch the breeze, and everyone looked beautiful.

  I was starting to catch the rhythm of the grown-up talk, how most things were a setup for a joke. And how people laughed at things even if they weren’t funny, as long as they were said in a funny way. Joe had heard from somebody that there was a rumor that two German sailors had rowed to the beach from a submarine during the war. They’d had a drink at a bar and gone to the movies. Mrs. Grayson said people were way too afraid of spies and not afraid enough of politicians. That made everyone laugh. Peter said he was sure the story was true because everybody loved the movies, even Germans. Joe said we should have sent Lana Turner to Berlin and Hitler would have surrendered. Everyone laughed again.

  His face flushed, Mr. Grayson held out an arm. “You see? Right here, at this table—this is how this hotel should be.”

  “Even on these awful chairs?” Mrs. Grayson asked. Everyone laughed, but I saw a line of worry between her eyebrows. There was a crease there that I was becoming familiar with, that you didn’t see if you didn’t look.

  “With Joe and I running the place, it can’t lose,” Mr. Grayson said.

  Silence fell on the table with a thud you could practically hear against your eardrums.

  “What’s this, Joe?” Peter looked from Joe to Mr. Grayson. “You two going into business together?”

  “Tom?” Mrs. Grayson asked.

  “Well, we need to do some research,” Mr. Grayson said. “Spin down the coast, maybe to Miami, look at the hotels down there. Get a sense of things. But this place could be a gold mine. No question about that.”

  “So you’re going in partners, Joe? That’s great news,” Peter said.

  “Trust and a handshake,” Joe said. “That’s all a partnership is.”

  “And then there’s the follow-through,” Peter said.

  “We should all move here!” I said. I tried to catch Peter’s eye.

  “Sure, why not,” Mrs. Grayson said. “I love Palm Beach.” She laughed, and it sounded like silverware ringing against a plate.

  “I’m thinking about tennis lessons,” Mom said.

  “There’s the ticket,” Joe said. “That will keep you busy. Tennis, golf, whatever you want. You can play yearround in Florida, you know. Hey, let’s order some champagne.”

  “There’s a golf course in Lake Worth that’s right by the lake,” Peter said. “It gets breezy in the afternoons.”

  “That sounds like it’s for me,” Mom said.

  We ate our chicken and our shrimp. Mrs. Grayson poured me a half-glass of champagne, and Joe didn’t even mind. Mom had two glasses of champagne and glowed even brighter. Mrs. Grayson smoked instead of ate, and Mr. Grayson and Joe talked hotels.

  “Let’s have our coffee in the lobby,” Mr. Grayson suggested, and everyone pushed back their chairs.

  “Bed for me,” Mrs. Grayson said brightly.

  “Me, too,” Mom said. “That champagne gave me a little headache.”

  “Mine is the size of Florida,” Mrs. Grayson said, even though she hadn’t touched hers.

  “I’ll come up with you, honey,” Joe said.

  “Don’t be silly,” Mom said. “Have your business talk with Tom. I’m taking two aspirin and going to bed.”

  I wandered after them into the lobby. Everyone seemed to have forgotten about me. When Peter said good-bye he barely looked at me. Tom and Joe picked a quiet corner, while Mom and Mrs. Grayson headed to the elevators.

  I guessed Peter was being careful; he didn’t want to get Joe steamed again. I felt lonesome, drifting around the lobby, too lonesome even for a game of solitaire.

  In a few minutes I saw Wally come in and head for the desk. He was whistling under his breath, so I knew it was the end of his shift. I didn’t want him to see me, so I ducked out of the lobby fast.

  I killed some time doing what I used to do, walking through the hallways, peeking into the empty ballroom, looking for the fat man in the bar. Finally I slipped out a side door.

  I breathed in the night air. Why did the air here smell like a pocketful of promises? It was the flowers and the ocean and the sky all mixed in together.

  And then I saw Peter across the street, saw the gleam of his blond hair and the white of his jacket. The world seemed to fall away and arrange itself around him, and it was perfect.

  He heard my clattering footsteps as I ran toward him, and he turned, surprised. “It’s you, pussycat. What’s the matter, can’t sleep?” He took my hand. “Come on, let’s go to the beach.”

  Perfect.

  Chapter 15

  A fat custard moon was splat in the purple sky, and a few stars were beginning to pop like fireworks. We left our shoes in the sand and walked down to the water. The baby waves lapped at our toes.

  “Funny thing about the moon,” Peter said. “When I was overseas, I’d look up at it, and I couldn’t get that the same moon was over here, too. Everything happens underneath the same moon. Things you never thought you’d see. Or do.”

  I knew he was talking about the war, and I felt I shouldn’t ask about it. So I kept quiet. I ducked my chin and looked up at him sideways, like Lauren Bacall in the movie we’d just seen.

  But he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking down the beach. “When I enlisted, I didn’t know anything. What did I know? All I did was…play tennis, be a rich man’s only son.”

  �
�But you have a brother.”

  “Oh, yeah. But the expectations were all on me. Dad wanted me to go into the navy—he nearly busted a gut when I chose the infantry. I got tossed into the worst of it right after basic training. Went from sweltering in basic to freezing my…well, freezing. All I knew how to do was march. Which didn’t help me much. We didn’t march in the Battle of the Bulge. We scrambled. I guess you read all about it in the papers.”

  “We didn’t know Joe was in it until later. But we were scared he was.” We’d known, even during the battle, how badly it was going. Nineteen thousand U.S. soldiers had been killed. Nineteen thousand. One of them had lived two doors down—William Armstrong, twenty years old. I remembered him as being the best whistler. Whistling “Chattanooga Choo Choo” as he walked by our house. Going to pick up his sweetheart, Rose Natalucci, on Saturday nights. The sound coming in my open window like a brass band, only it was just Billy Armstrong.

  “Mud and snow and idiots. That was that.”

  “Did you meet Joe then?”

  It was like he only just remembered I was there. “Hey, I’m not dumb enough to keep talking about the war with a pretty girl. Let’s talk about you.”

  I shrugged, searching for something to say. Every Young Girl’s Guide to Popularity had always said to talk about the boy, not yourself.

  “Tell me about home,” he prompted. “Start there.”

  “Well, everybody’s always in your business in my neighborhood. Everybody knows everybody, practically. And we live with Joe’s mother. I’m supposed to call her Grandma Glad.”

  Peter snorted. “And she’s a battle-axe, right?”

  “How’d you know? Anyway, Mom keeps saying the house is too small now. So maybe we’ll move. Maybe here,” I said. “Since Joe and Mr. Grayson might buy the hotel.”

  Peter laughed softly. “Yeah, so I found out tonight.”

  “What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, I guess. I don’t get it, though. I thought Joe was selling those new washing machines.”

  “He’s tired of it, he says.”