Bright Young Things

by Anna Godbersen

  “No.” Another pause. “What a shame, I would have liked her company tonight.”

  There was no reply, and after another moment, Astrid knew he was gone. She could just picture Charlie leaping up the steps, searching for her with that brash, important way he had. When the door slammed, she hurried back to Cordelia, who was still sitting in the same position, her hair hanging down around her shoulders.

  “He‧s looking for you, you know,” Cordelia said slowly.

  “I know.” Astrid bit her lip. “Only, let me stay here a little while? Can I sleep here with you?”

  “Of course you can … but why not just confront him tonight?”

  “It will do him good to think I‧ve gone off … and I can‧t decide what to do until tomorrow.” Astrid sighed and threw herself back against the bedspread. What she couldn‧t bring herself to say was that if Charlie had betrayed her, she didn‧t want to know. “Anyway, I always sleep in this bed when I‧m here too late to drive back home. I did before you came, that is. Which I‧m awfully glad you did!”

  “You sleep—here?”

  Astrid let out a loud, flat laugh. “Where did you think I‧d sleep? Not with Charlie.”

  But she could tell from Cordelia‧s face that this was exactly what she had thought. Cordelia‧s lips parted, and she went on watching Astrid, as though for a sign that she was telling a joke. “Oh,” she said quietly, and nodded.

  Astrid slapped the bed and laughed again at the notion. Cordelia took to everything so quickly, it had momentarily slipped Astrid‧s mind how far away Ohio was. It was different there, she supposed, now that she thought about it. Perhaps boys and girls on farms acted like married people long before they actually were. “Of course not! Oh, he‧d like me to, but there are some things a girl doesn‧t do before, well—anyway, I wouldn‧t want to end up like my mother.”

  Astrid groaned, remembering the party she had left behind and all the horrid antics. “Anyway, it‧s all so dull. Let‧s talk about you, can‧t we?”

  She scooted up the bed and pulled the cover over her evening gown. A breeze picked up, pushing against the white curtains and moving them about in a ghostly manner. Cordelia ran her long fingers over the bedspread and seemed to be silently considering her words. The corners of her mouth twitched for a moment, as though she were trying to keep a smile at bay, but she could not stop it from coming into full bloom.

  Cordelia tossed a heap of sun-streaked hair over her shoulder, and stars shone in her eyes. But that hair was a bit country—Astrid saw that now. They were going to have to fix it. The rest of Cordelia was so elegant, after all; it was a shame to let this one detail remain off-key.

  “I met a boy,” Cordelia finally whispered.

  “Aha!” Astrid exclaimed. “I knew something very thrilling had happened. Why else would you have suddenly become so elusive? Tell me! Tell me now. Tell me everything.”

  “Well, his name‧s Thom, and—”

  Astrid gasped. Her mouth fell open, and her tone became serious. “Thom Hale? Oh, when I saw you speaking at the club … Well, you can‧t fall in love with Thom Hale,” she said quickly, giving a stuttered shaking of the head.

  But Cordelia did not match her seriousness yet. She laughed and lightly replied, “Not you, too?”

  “The Hales and the Greys—how can I explain?”

  “Oh, I know. I know everything. Charlie and Father told me I‧m not to see him, and they‧ve locked me away in the castle just to make sure.” She bit her lip, glancing from Astrid to her hands, as though she were frightened by what she‧d done, or maybe frightened by what she felt. Cordelia lay her head on the pillow so that she was just next to her friend, and she lowered her voice as though she were about to tell a very dark secret. “Only, I‧ve never felt that way before. The way I felt when I was with him. I‧d never known life could be so grand …”

  Astrid‧s eyes had become very large. “Oh, but you mustn‧t. Charlie and Darius take family very seriously …”

  There was a long silence after this, and for a moment it seemed that Cordelia had regretted her confession. But then a little mischief began to play at the corners of her mouth. “But do you know how handsome he is?”

  Now Astrid could not help but smile, too. “Yes—he is handsome, I suppose.”

  “So you know him?”

  “Of course, everyone knows Thom!”

  Cordelia let out a dreamy sigh and buried her face in the pillow. She was in trouble, and yet she seemed almost happy. Watching her friend, Astrid wondered if the rivalry between the Hales and the Greys really mattered so much after all. Sometimes people questioned Charlie and Astrid‧s affections—and perhaps they were right—but in Astrid‧s heart, she knew she couldn‧t help loving Charlie, despite his flaws. Even now, when her head was cluttered with anger, she loved him. Who was she to doubt anyone else‧s love affair?

  They began to drift off, briefly, but were awakened by the sound of shouting down below. Creeping toward the window, they giggled a little as they realized that it was Charlie and Elias calling Astrid‧s name into the night.

  “Maybe we should tell them?” Cordelia whispered as they peered outside.

  “No! That can wait until morning, just like everything else.” Astrid took her friend‧s hand and they padded back across the floor and tucked themselves under the covers.

  “Anyway, none of it can be all that bad.” Cordelia gave Astrid a reassuring wink. “How could it be, when we get to fall asleep in a room as soft and bright as this one?”

  This was a new concept for Astrid—but once she closed her eyes and considered Cordelia‧s logic, it seemed irrefutable.

  Even as the night sky became tinged with the pink of sunrise, it was likely that down in the back corners of White Cove, and in its finer social rooms, gaudy laughter was still ringing to the ceilings, or else vast sorrow was being drowned. But in the Calla Lily Suite on the third floor of Dogwood, layers of expensive bedding held Astrid, and the rhythm of Cordelia‧s breathing on the next pillow gave her the sense that, at last, she had a true friend.

  16

  “YOU‧LL NEVER GUESS WHAT THE NEW GIRL DID LAST night!”

  Letty had just stepped out of her bedroom, wearing a charcoal-colored dress she had borrowed and was thus a little long for her. She looked even more petite than usual and was feeling rather delicate for reasons she could not yet quite pinpoint.

  “What did the new girl do last night?” Fay asked as she walked out of the kitchenette and over to the plum couch, where she sunk down next to Paulette. A black silk eye mask was pushed up on her forehead, beneath the curve of her pale blond hair, and she was still wearing the usual knee-length kimono.

  “She jumped onstage and sang an impromptu song with the band!” Paulette announced, as though she still couldn‧t believe it. “The crowd loved it. Amory Glenn was there, and later she found a way to flirt with him.”

  Fay‧s lower lip fell and her eyes glistened. “Good girl!” she exclaimed. “It‧s those big innocent blues.”

  “Amory Glenn?” Kate exclaimed, emerging from her bedroom. Her frizzy dark hair was tucked under the folds of a white turban, and her long, slender features were already made up. “You brilliant little dog!”

  But her roommates’ glee at her conquest only made Letty feel embarrassed. Last night, it had seemed very grand, but she‧d woken up this morning in a different mood. In her dreams, Cordelia had been a kind of princess, and she had mocked Letty from a passing carriage, and when Letty had opened her eyes and heard Paulette‧s noisy breathing beside her in the bed they shared, her life hadn‧t seemed quite so bright as it had before. If she retold the story of jumping on the stage at Seventh Heaven, then she would soon arrive at the part where the song ended and she realized that Cordelia was gone again. The memory made her throat tight.

  “I‧ll tell you all about it later.” She mustered a small, brave smile. “It‧s just that it‧s such a beautiful day, I can‧t bear to be inside …,” Letty offered, a bit
lamely, as an excuse.

  “Oh!”

  “But—”

  “Tell us,” chorused her roommates, as they pushed themselves up and inclined themselves toward her. But she was already hurriedly crossing the alcove by the entry. She pulled a cocoa-colored felt cloche over her bob and pulled open the door.

  “I‧ll be back later!” she called with a frantic wave of the hand, and then she went out of the dim basement and into the day.

  As she came up onto the sidewalk, her embarrassment and sorrow began to ebb, and with it her desperate need to flee. She paused there on that narrow, curving street, in the kindly shadow of the two-and three-story brick townhouses and the tall trees in full leaf overhead.

  That was when she saw Grady Lodge across the street, leaning against his black roadster, with his hands in his pockets.

  A floppy cap created a wedge of shadow on his face, but it could not hide the patient yearning in his deep-set gray eyes. He was wearing the tweed trousers of a knickerbocker suit, his rust-colored socks visible to his knees, although the jacket was nowhere in sight. That was what they called “natty,” Letty supposed, except that everything about him was just slightly askew.

  “Hello there!” he called.

  Feeling bashful again, she glanced behind her, but the curtains to her apartment remained drawn. Seeing him in the daylight was peculiar, but she was happy now to have been given a direction. With a little feint of surprise, she let out an “Oh … hello!” and then crossed to him.

  He reached out for her hand and kissed her knuckles.

  “How did you know where I live?” she asked when he brought his eyes up to look at her again.

  “Your friend Paulette told me last night,” he explained. “Maybe she felt sorry for me, when she realized how many hours I‧d sat at the bar waiting to talk to you …”

  For a moment he appeared to lose himself in looking at her, so Letty simply smiled in a girlish way and waited for him to say something more.

  “… and when I woke up this morning, I thought perhaps, you being from Ohio and all, you would like a tour of the city.”

  Reasons why not brimmed in her throat. But the day was lovely, just as she had told her roommates, and she had after all not ventured very far beyond Greenwich Village. Cordelia seemed to be going everywhere, and why shouldn‧t she? “Well, all right, but I haven‧t got the whole day,” she said, trying not to sound too eager.

  A grin filled his boyish face. “I‧ll take you for as long as you can spare.”

  Hurrying around the side of the car, he opened the door for her, posing in a courtly way until she was settled in. Once he‧d secured the door behind her, he came around and started up the car. For a brief while she felt nervous and a little shy, sitting in a car with a stranger, but eventually the sights drew her in. They drove down blocks where every storefront was filled with flowers by the bucket, and streets where the signs were in red Chinese lettering.

  Perhaps sensing how foreign these sights were to her, he said, “You‧re awfully brave to come all this way by yourself.”

  “Oh … I didn‧t,” Letty replied. “I came with a girl named Cordelia, but we don‧t know each other anymore.”

  Grady glanced at her. “I‧m sorry,” he said quietly. “Perhaps I could help you find her?”

  “That‧s very kind, but—but—I don‧t think she cares about me anymore. You see, she came in the club last night, but left as soon as she caught sight of me.”

  “I can‧t imagine anyone not wanting to know you.”

  “Oh, that‧s very kind,” Letty told him, pushing aside the melancholy that had crept into her dreams. The day was so pretty and the city so full, and she didn‧t want to be sorry over anything—and anyway, it felt good to tell someone about Cordelia and her unkind departure. “I‧ve made better friends since then,” she said brightly.

  When she announced she was hungry, they pulled alongside a street vendor‧s cart and Grady bought hot dogs, and they ate them as they drove up and down the shady roads and grand tunnels that ran through the big park at the center of the city.

  “This is what they call the Central Park …” Grady‧s attentive gray eyes traveled from the road and back to her.

  “It looks like it goes on forever!” Letty said between bites of soft bread and juicy meat. “How many blocks is it?”

  Grady paused and then admitted, “I don‧t know …” He reddened and gave her one of his easy smiles. “But I promise I‧ll find out. Many, I suppose. It‧s its own little kingdom; you can get lost in there, you know.”

  The canopy of green over her head rustled in such a peaceful, quiet way that for a moment she forgot that she was in a city at all. Elegant women with mincing walks followed poodles on leashes, and children clutching balloons begged for treats from their fathers, and all the while the sky above remained an impervious blue. She had taken long drives before, but never ones that were so aimless and leisurely, and never ones with such grand scenery.

  They changed directions, going downhill somewhat and driving through the low-lying areas by the water, past loading docks and factories puffing smoke and little forgotten structures crammed onto the island at its edges. Ferries made their way across the river, and men smeared with grease idled in front of garages.

  “I apologize for having taken this route,” Grady said, chagrined, as they motored through a particularly industrial patch.

  “But why would you be sorry?” Letty exclaimed. Whatever filth lay heavy in the air, she could not help but feel thrilled by the very multitude of smokestacks and brightly colored tugboats, the distant yelling of working men, the far-off blaring of maritime horns. “I think it‧s beautiful here. In fact, it‧s such a nice day, I wouldn‧t mind putting my toes in …”

  “Not here!” A shade of worry crossed Grady‧s face at the very suggestion. “No, no, no—the water and the shoreline here are dirty in ten different ways. I would not let you go down there, even with an army of bodyguards, even with a fleet of Sherpas to hold you up above the muck.”

  Letty put her elbow against the back of her seat and gazed behind them at the receding view of the water. The area that they were heading into now was one of higher buildings, and the river, though still pungent, was no longer so visible. Disappointment bore down for a minute on the corners of her mouth, but it passed quickly, and the sentiment of what he had said began to sink in and create a decided glow along her cheekbones. For Grady—though he was only a writer, and though his humble face did not create such wild disturbances in her breast—thought that she was worthy of being carried like a queen.

  “I know a pretty spot where we can go down close to the water—I still don‧t believe you should put your toes in, but maybe for a look-see.”

  So Letty smiled, and they sailed on. He took them on a looping route, through streets whose sidewalks were crowded out with produce stands, streets where the smell of onion was heavy in the air, streets paved with cobblestone.

  Eventually they puttered to a stop under the shadow of an enormous bridge.

  “Where are we?” she said, as he helped her out of the car.

  “Just a place where I like to come and gaze at the borough of Brooklyn, from time to time, when I‧m thinking of Walt Whitman …” Grady closed his eyes and inhaled a deep, contented breath.

  Letty‧s legs felt a little wobbly after so long in the shaking, rumbling automobile, but Grady offered her his arm. As they headed toward the water, she saw the spans of two other enormous bridges, stretching all the way across the river to where she could just make out the houses and factories and piers on the other side.

  As they walked, she listened to the lapping of the water and the scattering of debris underfoot—but the tranquility was broken by the sound of two thunderlike claps. A shudder passed from the sides of her skull down to her toes. The howling of two or three dogs followed, as if in furious confirmation that some very violent deed had been done.

  “Oh!” she gasped, and she put her
hands up against Grady‧s chest.

  They hurried forward and saw a car parked under the wall of the bridge. A man‧s wide back faced them—he was bent, examining something, so that his large rear was pointed toward the span above. Then he stood, lifting the sleek, limp body of a creature and hurling it onto a pile of similar, lifeless forms. When Letty gasped again, the man glanced briefly in their direction.

  “Get out of here,” he said in a tone that was equal parts gruff and weary, before looking away. He opened the door to the car, and the howling started up again. For a minute or so he struggled, and then slammed the door, holding tight to a dog‧s leash. At its end was a very skittish greyhound, long legs quavering and eyes rolling in terror. The man pulled, jerking the frightened animal away from the car and cocking his gun.

  “He‧s going to kill that poor animal,” she whispered desperately to Grady, who had already put his arm around her, gently trying to goad her back. But her chin had begun to quiver, and her feet were quite stubbornly planted. “Look!” She couldn‧t find words for what they were about to witness. “Do something.”

  “I don‧t think—” he began, as the greyhound shook and whimpered.

  “Stop him!” she persisted. “Listen—the dog‧s crying.”

  The man, whose white collared shirt had grown see-through in places with sweat, and whose jowls were shaded by stubble, raised his gun and fired twice. The dog‧s elegant legs collapsed, and then the whimpering was over.

  “Oh!” This time Letty‧s cry had become low and guttural—true wailing. The succinct cruelty of the big man‧s movements was so terrible that for a moment she felt it was her skin that had been ripped apart, her own blood that would now begin to spill.

  Inside the car, a lone dog yelped, its paws clawing desperately at the window.

  The man straightened and shook the casings out of his gun. He stuffed his hand in his pocket and produced another handful of shining bullets, which he slipped one at a time into the chamber, before clicking it closed. “I told you to get out of here.”