“No reason in the world.” Joe muttered this, his back to me, and I heard ice hit a glass.
I woke up to the sound of my door opening. Four A.M. I sat up. Joe stumbled through the doorway, tripped on a sandal, and fell by my bed.
He cursed into the carpet. There was no Grandma Glad to say None of that language, you’re out of the army now, Sergeant.
“Are you okay?” I whispered.
“Yeah.” He turned over and lay faceup. “I love her. I love your mother. You know that.”
“I know that.”
“I didn’t mean to break the vase.”
“I know.”
“I’m not sorry it broke, though. Damn, it was ugly.”
Somehow Joe and I started to laugh. “It was just plain awful,” I whispered.
Joe stared at the ceiling. “She’s all I thought about, getting back stateside, doing right by Bev. Getting her things she never had. Taking care of her. She’s my baby doll.” In the dim light, I saw the silvery streaks of tears on Joe’s face. “I’m all balled up, now. I’m just all balled up.”
“Go to sleep.”
It was warm in the room, but I slid off the bed and put a blanket over him. He caught my wrist and held it, his eyes closed.
“Where does she go, Evie?” he asked. “Where does she go?”
Chapter 18
To celebrate the sale, even though it hadn’t happened yet, Mr. Grayson announced that he was taking us all to dinner down the coast. Even Peter.
It was time to wear the moonlight dress.
I wanted to make an entrance. Mrs. Grayson would say, I was sure, that the dress deserved an entrance.
I got dressed the way I’d seen Mom do it. Not just throwing on clothes, but walking back and forth between the mirror and the closet, brushing my hair, studying my face, sitting in my slip, smoothing the tiniest wrinkles from the skirt of the dress. Carefully, slowly, putting on lipstick. Watching myself in the mirror as I put powder on my nose and my bare shoulders. Perfume in my cleavage, the way I’d seen Mom do.
I’d mostly been just a kid during the war, and now that it was over, the only thing I wanted to remember was the romance of it. I didn’t want to think of it like Mrs. Grayson, that it gave the small-minded among us something to do. It made me think of Grandma Glad, pursing her lips over the success of her Victory Garden, refusing to give away her cabbages.
I wanted to think of music, of dances, of falling in love and getting married before he got shipped overseas. And the songs—I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places—all that longing, all that waiting. It made sense to me now. Every lyric. It wasn’t about just hearing it on the radio. The strings were stretched and quivering and going crazy inside me.
If Peter and I had met during the war, would we have gotten engaged? Would things have moved faster? I knew girls who were pre-engaged at school. I used to laugh at their smugness. Now I wanted it. Time rushed at me like a subway, all air and heat. I was afraid one day we’d all pack up our cars and drive away, and I’d lose him.
“You ready in there?” Joe bellowed.
“I’ll meet you downstairs! I’m not ready!”
“Aw, criminy, Evie. Do me a favor. Don’t turn into your mother.”
I could see it in his face. Peter saw me, really saw me, and so did Mrs. Grayson and so did Mom and so did Joe.
“You look like a dream,” Peter said.
“Where did you get that dress?” Joe bellowed the words, and the lobby went silent.
Mrs. Grayson moved forward and took my arm. “I bought it for her. Doesn’t she look stunning?”
“Beautiful,” Peter said. “She’s all grown up.”
“No, she’s not!” The sharpness in Mom’s voice made everyone freeze.
Joe came forward. He took my other arm. “Go upstairs and put something decent on.”
“Joe, she’s perfectly decent—” Mrs. Grayson started.
“I’m her father!”
Joe tugged me toward the elevator.
“She’s almost sixteen,” Mrs. Grayson said. But Mr. Grayson looked at her and she stopped talking.
Joe went on one side, Mom on the other. They steered me into the elevator and we went up to the room. I wanted to cry in great heaving gulps, in a way I hadn’t cried in forever. But I didn’t.
Mom went to my closet and got out my old best dress, the pink one with the lace on the collar. She unbuttoned the gown and got me out of it. She pulled the pink dress over my head.
“That’s it,” Joe said from the other room. “That’s it, Evie. If you’re sneaking around behind my back, it stops now.”
Mom’s fingers fumbled as she tried to zip up the dress.
“I won’t have that man sniffing after my daughter!” Joe shouted. “Did you see the way he looked at her? Like a boy scout going for his merit badge in hound dog!”
Mom got the zipper up. She turned me around. She leaned forward and wiped my face with a wadded-up tissue. Which didn’t make sense, because I wasn’t crying. She was.
“It has to stop,” she whispered. “Baby, it has to stop.”
Joe’s mood improved after three cocktails. At the restaurant he pounded Tom on the back and called him “buddy.” His face was flushed red, and Mom started to stub out cigarette after cigarette. I had Shirley Temples and a big bowl of spaghetti. It was not a good combo.
It was supposed to be a celebration, but nobody was celebrating. They were just making noise, like Joe, or drinking, like Mom. Mrs. Grayson and Mom weren’t talking. I thought it was maybe because of the dress. Mrs. Grayson ordered a gin and tonic and didn’t drink it. Mom didn’t eat.
Joe kept saying, “It’s a night to remember!” but you knew everyone else would want to forget it the very next morning. Even Mr. Grayson didn’t look happy. He ate his steak in big bites and tucked a napkin into his collar to eat his spaghetti. It made him look like a ten-year-old.
Peter gave me a wry smile when we sat down, but he didn’t try to talk to me. Every bite of dinner, every moment, I wanted to grab his hand and run out the door. The dinner felt like the longest night, like the night the world would end.
“You know, we never went fishing,” Joe said. “We should do that tomorrow. Hire a boat down at the dock, make a day of it.”
Nobody looked too excited about that.
“What do you say, Tom?” Joe asked. “We’ll pack a thermos of drinks, get Rudy in the kitchen to pack a hamper.”
“I heard there’s a bad storm out in the ocean,” Mr. Grayson said.
“We won’t be in the ocean. We’ll stay in the lake.”
“I get seasick on motorboats,” Mrs. Grayson said. “Sailboats, I like.”
“You just have to know how to handle them easy,” Peter said. “I grew up on the water. Got my sea legs early.”
“Aw,” Joe said, “did your rich daddy buy you a widdle boat? Did he let you toot the horn?”
“Sure,” Peter said. “I like to blow horns. Nice and loud, so everyone can hear.”
This seemed to make Joe even madder. “Nobody invited you, Coleridge.”
“I did,” Tom said. “If we’re going, we should all go.”
“You see that, Joe?” Peter said. “Nobody likes being left behind. It makes you feel kind of itchy.”
“So scratch.”
Everyone looked at Joe and Peter. The wave of fury crashed and rolled back between them.
“Isn’t the moon pretty?” Mrs. Grayson said.
Everyone smoked a cigarette with coffee after dinner, and then it was time to go at last. We all stood outside, waiting for the valets to get our cars. The dark palms whispered in a quickening breeze. I looked at Peter. He had his hands in his pockets and was looking at Mom and Joe.
Look at me look at me look at me look at me
The valet brought Mr. Grayson’s car, and as everyone started to move toward it Peter was suddenly next to me. “What we need is a hurricane hole.”
“A hurricane hole?”
“Time to get rolling, Coleridge.” Joe was right next to us now.
“I’m not good enough for your daughter, Joe?” Peter asked. “Is that it? I’m not good enough to even talk to her? What else aren’t I good enough for?”
Joe looked like he wanted to throw a punch.
And then Peter spoke so softly that only Joe and I could hear it. “Who’s the dirty rat here, Joe? From where I’m standing?”
The two of them faced each other. Joe’s face was closed up. His soft brown eyes had gone black and dull. I realized something for the first time: I’d gotten it all wrong. Peter wasn’t afraid of Joe. Joe was scared of Peter.
Joe threw a punch. Peter stepped back and the fist didn’t connect with a jaw or a nose, just Peter’s ear, and not that hard. Joe staggered and almost fell, and this made him more angry. He looked like he was winding up for another one, but Peter stepped back, both hands up, palms out.
“I think it’s time we called it a night, don’t you, Sarge? Good night, Evie.”
Peter quickly turned and walked across the parking lot. The Graysons and Mom had their backs to us while they got into the car. The valet was hurrying to get Peter’s car, and Peter caught up to him and clapped him on the shoulder.
It had happened so fast that nobody had seen it but me.
Chapter 19
We pulled up at the hotel and Wally walked forward, almost casually. Usually he raced to get to the car door before you could open it.
“Here you go, young Walter,” Mr. Grayson said, and gave him a quarter.
Wally didn’t say anything. He just took the keys.
As we walked into the lobby, Mr. Forney the manager was standing there, as though he was waiting for us.
“Mr. and Mrs. Grayson, I need a word. Over by the desk.”
It was the absence of please. Usually the guy pleased all over the place. Please, sir, your messages. Please, sir, your dinner reservation is confirmed. Please step this way, sir, please.
Just the way Wally had run out of yessirs.
I saw Mrs. Grayson’s spine snap to. She looked over at Mr. Grayson, but he stood, still with a pleasant smile on his face, not moving.
“How about right here?” he asked.
Joe moved closer, flanking Mr. Grayson. “Is there a problem?”
“You received a telephone message this evening,” the manager said. “From a Mrs…” he cleared his throat “…Garfinkle.” He said the name like a wet tissue he was holding by a corner. “She requested that you call home. Something about a wire transfer of funds.” He paused. “The lady in question claimed to be your mother.”
Mr. Grayson took the message slip out of the manager’s hand and turned away. “Thank you.”
“I have to ask…”
Mr. Grayson whipped around so fast Mr. Forney had to step back. “Do you? Do you have to ask?”
“If, in fact, this lady is your mother.”
“Last time I checked,” Mr. Grayson said.
“Tom,” Mrs. Grayson murmured. She touched his sleeve.
“I’m sorry, we do have a strict policy,” the manager said.
“And that is?”
“Mr. Grayson, we trusted that you and your wife were Gentiles. But from speaking to your mother, we believe this is not the case.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“It is an established Palm Beach custom. I understand that your people are happier down in the Miami area. I’ll send a bellhop up for your luggage.”
Mr. Grayson’s face flushed. “Are you kicking me out of this hotel?”
“We find that your booking was open-ended, and we have a large number of guests arriving soon.”
“That’s bull,” Joe said.
“We here at Le Mirage strive for the comfort of all our guests, and they have a right to expect—”
“Tom.” Mrs. Grayson tugged on his arm. “Let’s go.”
“Not tonight. I’m not driving out tonight and looking for a hotel in the dark.”
“I’m sure I can recommend some motels.”
Mr. Grayson stared Mr. Forney down. “We’ll be gone before breakfast.”
The manager held his gaze for a moment. Then he inclined his head slightly. “I think that will be acceptable.” He walked away stiffly, as if he was the one with the right to be angry.
For a minute nobody said anything.
“Let’s go, Tom,” Mrs. Grayson said.
“You’re not going to say it?” he answered dully. “You’re not going to tell me that you were right?”
“Sweetheart,” she murmured. There was so much lovely warmth in that word, it was a wonder he didn’t turn to her, but he didn’t, he just kept staring ahead.
“Tom,” Joe said. “Is there anything we can do?”
Tom’s mouth twisted. “Like help me pack?”
“This is terrible,” Mom said. “I…”
But this moment was for the Graysons. Nobody else. Mrs. Grayson looked at Mom with a “butt out” look that even I could read.
So we just stood there and watched them push the elevator button. Watched them wait. Watched them get on. We didn’t move a muscle.
Ugly. Once in the schoolyard Herbie Connell threw a rock and it hit me in the back. This felt like that, ugly hitting me in the back.
“Whew,” Mom said as soon as the door to our suite closed behind us. “That crummy little pipsqueak manager. I should have stuffed that stupid bow tie down his throat.”
“I can’t believe this is happening to me,” Joe said. “We’re signing tomorrow. This is going to blow everything.”
“How do you mean?” Mom asked. “They’re getting kicked out of the hotel, not Florida. Why won’t he sign the deal?”
“Did you see their faces? Don’t you get it?” Joe said angrily. “The deal is off! Christ, Bev, can’t you get anything?”
“It’s not my fault,” Mom said. “You get that, Joe? Everything is not my fault!”
Joe paced to the bed and back. “I’ve got to think.”
“What’s to think about? You’ll talk to Tom tomorrow and get it straightened out.”
“You think we can buy this hotel now, the two of us? Now that they know?”
“So buy another hotel! It doesn’t have to be in Palm Beach. Who needs it, anyway?”
“And you weren’t any help. Why did Arlene sour on you that way? Couldn’t you help me out? What happened with her, anyway?”
“It didn’t take you long. What was it, maybe thirty seconds? I knew you’d come around to blaming this on me. You knew the deal was risky. You knew he was Jewish, didn’t you? That’s why he needed your name on the deed.”
“He was going to be a silent partner. Who would care?”
“They’d care! So maybe he wanted to bust this place wide open—I’m not saying he’s wrong—but I’m saying, you shouldn’t be surprised that it blew up, that’s all. That’s what happens when you try to fix things sometimes. Things that the swells like just the way they are.”
“So this is my fault.”
“No, it’s not your fault, Joe.” Mom sounded tired. “But it’s not mine, either. You never tell me the real deal. You screw up, it’s my fault. I want to make my own screwups, thank you.”
“Oh, you’re plenty good at screwing, dollface,” Joe said. “That’s clear.”
“Stop fighting!” I yelled. But they didn’t stop.
“Why’d you marry me, Joe? Why’d you ask me to marry you?”
“I thought different then.”
“You didn’t trust me then, though, did you? You never did, but I didn’t want to see it. I thought it was because you loved me so much. But no, you made sure I had a chaperone while you were overseas. Your mother, watching me like a hawk. So if I stopped to buy a pack of gum, she’d want to know what I was doing for those five minutes.
”
“Did you need a chaperone, Bev?”
“Stop it,” I begged. “Please, stop it.”
“You must have met a lot of fellows, selling ties.”
“Stop it!”
I wanted to put my hands over my ears. I was gulping my tears into my mouth. I didn’t want to hear any more ugly tonight. So I ran.
Chapter 20
I ran down the streets barefoot, sandals in both hands, hiccupping my misery into the air. Past The Breakers, down a street lined with palm trees, turning again.
It was so dark. The moon was behind the clouds. The tall ficus hedges on either side of the road were like giant men in a fairy tale, scary and mean. I ran and ran on the dark silent street. All the houses were shuttered, their owners away until winter, when the island would come alive. What a screwy place, I thought, when you had to wait until December to wake up.
I kept thinking about Tom Grayson’s hand squeezing that piece of paper. And the manager’s face. He had been waiting to deliver that news. He had been happy to do it. That was the ugliest part.
And Joe and Mom. I’d heard them fight, but never like that, where they wanted to say the meanest things they could, the cruelest things they could think of.
I needed someone to explain it to me. Someone who would tell me the real deal.
I remembered the blue convertible turning down a street, and that’s where I headed. There were no cars anywhere, no lights on in the houses. I walked and walked, down one street, then another. The driveways curved away from the street, and I had to run down each one to look for the car. I pressed my face against garagedoor windows.
Finally I noticed a dirt road under a canopy of pines. It was solid dark, too dark to see anything but the outline of a white house shaded by tall trees with twisted roots. The shutters were drawn tightly over the windows. I went alongside the house, down a narrow crushed-shell driveway. It hurt my feet, so I put my shoes back on.
The blue car was pulled up underneath the overhanging branches of a tree. A breeze sent the branches shivering, and a shower of orange petals fell on my head. It seemed like a good omen. I walked into the backyard.
What I Saw and How I Lied Page 9