Montauk

by Nicola Harrison

  * * *

  Harry ordered flowers sent to my room at the Manor and the next morning a letter arrived.

  Dear Beatrice,

  I’m sorry for our abrupt meeting. You know I don’t like to fight. I hope these flowers will help you move on from our little disagreement.

  Love, Harry

  P.S. I can’t make it out there this weekend; I have business to attend to. Take some extra tennis lessons to amuse yourself.

  The note enraged me. I immediately took out a piece of paper from the bureau and wrote back:

  Harry,

  It was not a “little disagreement.” The flowers have not helped me move on. I am so upset by your violent actions that I am moving to a separate room until I can trust being alone with you again. You can tell the hotel staff whatever you want, that you need your room as an office for meetings, or some other pretense. We can go on in social situations as usual so as not to cause problems, but I cannot and will not sleep in the same room as you. I’m sure you understand.

  Beatrice

  I moved to a different floor immediately. I packed up my things. I couldn’t wait to get out of that room and leave the hideous memory behind. I told the front desk what I needed and didn’t care if they believed me or not. Let people talk. I felt a sense of relief and wished I’d thought of it earlier. Now I had a valid reason that allowed us to live apart. He knew it and I knew it.

  * * *

  Two weeks passed and I spent my days working on the masquerade ball charity project, writing the committee’s proposal, working through the list of potential donors and writing letters asking them to give generously. I wrote an article for the paper explaining the situation at the school, telling readers how they could help. Interspersed was commentary on the luncheons and parties, what people wore and what people said. On the evenings that Thomas worked, I’d sit with him and we’d talk and work alongside each other.

  Spending quiet hours with him allowed me to imagine us living a wholesome life, loving and being loved in this irreproachable way. I imagined helping with the duties of the lighthouse, cooking our meals, reading, writing, all the while being in the vicinity and in the arms of a man I trusted and adored. I daydreamed about this life constantly and when we were together I believed it was real.

  One day, in the early evening, we walked all the way along the cliffs to the little yellow cottage that Thomas was convinced he would own one day and we joked about where I’d plant my vegetable garden and how he’d build a swinging bench where we could watch the sunset.

  But even though we dreamed about what our life would look like together, I didn’t really have the courage to make it real. Harry scared me. After the way he’d treated me, after seeing the look in his eyes as he pinned me against that wall, I feared what he was capable of. I wanted to be with Thomas, but even with the violence and the affairs, real reasons to leave, I didn’t know if it was possible. I’d be disgraced and, worse, I’d disgrace Harry and I was terrified of what he’d do to me or to Thomas.

  That night, after Thomas had fallen asleep and was breathing deeply, I lay awake silently conjuring up alternative plans. How could we be together? Maybe Harry and I would have an arrangement, living together but apart. Thomas would be my lover. I could stay married, go about my life in the city and come back to Thomas summer after summer. I’d find a way to visit Montauk in the off-season by convincing Harry I should be involved with his investment there, to help maintain the building he was considering buying. What if I learned to play the game the way that he did? I looked over at Thomas, sleeping peacefully, and felt sickened by my own thoughts. He didn’t deserve to be loved that way. I turned to my side hating myself for being so vulgar—for thinking, even for a second, that Thomas would stand for that kind of disrespectful arrangement. But if I left Harry and he found out the real reason why, he’d be humiliated and that would fuel a fire of fury inside him.

  In the morning Thomas brought me coffee and sensed my sleepless night.

  “We can’t go on doing this, Bea,” he said.

  “Doing what?” I said, feeling as though he’d read my thoughts.

  “This.” He stood up and wrapped a towel around his waist. “Us, making love, spending nights together, spending days together, as if you aren’t a married woman. Pretending.”

  I felt insulted even though he spoke the truth. I was dedicated to Thomas and I cared nothing for Harry anymore—I had erased him from my heart.

  “What are you saying, Thomas? Are you saying you want it to end?”

  “I’m saying we can’t go on acting as if this is normal behavior. We both know it’s not.”

  “You don’t want to be with me then?” I didn’t have any answers. The idea of not seeing him anymore, of not being with him, sleeping by his side and waking up in his arms felt devastating.

  “I think I’ve made my intentions pretty clear to you by now. I love you. I want to be with you,” Thomas said. “I’d do anything and face anyone to make that happen. But you have to be willing to do that, too. You have to be willing to make the hard choices.”

  I sat up in the bed and pulled the sheet around me.

  “I have a lot to lose,” I said quietly.

  “You also have a lot to gain.” He turned away and put his hands on the desk. For a brief moment I wanted to tell him about the night that Harry had torn at my clothes and my body. I wanted to tell him that I feared Harry. “There’s nothing else I can do or say to you, Bea. It’s your decision.”

  * * *

  When Thomas’s shift started I walked to the beach below wearing nothing but a slip dress. The beach was empty and the air hot. No one came up this way to sunbathe. With the exception of the occasional surf caster, it was my own private hideaway, just the sound of the waves and the seagulls and nothing to disturb my thoughts.

  I lay back and pressed my fingers into the warm, damp sand, my skin absorbing the sun’s touch. The water reached up to my toes, then pulled back again, sinking me into the sand a little more each time.

  I thought about those early New York days when I first met Harry. Was it just the contrast from my lonely life then that drew me to his dashing looks and fast-paced life: high society, dinners, lavish dos, champagne, diamonds? A world so different from mine. When he asked for my hand in marriage, I had barely even thought about it. It seemed impossible to me now, how I could have thought so little about the man I would spend the rest of my life with. But I had wanted and needed something different then and now what I wanted was to be myself again, to be free and uninhibited.

  The tide came in, water reaching farther up my legs, wetting the edges of my dress. You can only go so long pretending, acting as if you’re someone you’re not. Eventually you must return to who you are, who you were born to be. You can stray from it, try on other roles, other personalities, other beliefs, other lives, but eventually it will catch up with you and you have to return to the only person you can be. As I lay there, eyes shut, hair loose on the sand, feet immersed, it came to me that some people must live their whole lives acting, only returning to themselves in the final moments on their deathbed. I didn’t want to do that.

  I felt as if I were peeling off an outer layer and my original self was emerging, with all my wants and desires and needs. I felt naked and vulnerable knowing that this decision was the biggest decision of my life, yet somehow I felt stronger and determined. I wouldn’t be concealed by someone else’s shadow again. My mind was full, churning and processing what had once been too impossible to confront.

  The tide was rising. The water was up to my knees now, but I didn’t move, too deep into the realization that my life thus far had been a series of missteps, decisions made to cure some other part of me. I sat up, opened my eyes and had to shield them from the sun. I knew what I had to do.

  I climbed the zigzagged pathway back up the cliff. I crossed the grass and entered the engine room. Thomas sat on a wooden chair checking the oil levels. I stood at the door until I had his attent
ion; then I shut the door behind me.

  “Bea,” he said, looking up, eyes wide.

  “I want to be with you. I’m going to find a way.”

  He stood up, walked over to me and held me in his arms so tightly. “We’ll find it together.” He kissed my forehead and I felt him take a deep breath.

  29

  White-painted lettering spelled out “Dolores Ann & Friends” across the two large windows of the corner shop in town. As I crossed the village green I could see Dolly’s silhouette in the store, hands on her hips, standing back, admiring, then moving in, styling, adjusting a hat, tightening a belt. She was in her element.

  The trunk show at the Manor had been a raging success. She sold out of all the ready-to-wear within two hours and placed many orders. Following that, Dolly had taken over the lease for a corner shop for the month of August. It was right on the main high street, two doors down from Shagwong’s Tavern across the street from White’s Pharmacy, the post office and the liquor store. The corner building had been a fishing and tackle shop, but as Montauk’s popularity had been growing and growing over the past few years, so did the rent for storefronts until finally the fishing and tackle shopkeeper just couldn’t keep up. Now he sold his inventory out of a pull-along cart right down by the docks.

  Dolly saw this shop as an opportunity to showcase and sell her hats but also a place to carry other designers, friends and acquaintances from the city who otherwise might be feeling the effects of the slower summer months when those who liked to shop left town. Though Montauk was full of women with plenty of time and money, there was very little in town to buy, except for the occasional trunk show. Until Dolly opened Dolores Ann & Friends there was nowhere to browse if it took your fancy. In fact, at this late stage in the summer many of the women around the Manor had started taking two-day trips into the city to get their shopping in. They were growing tired of what they’d brought out with them for the summer and missed the act of shopping and spending.

  A bell rang as I opened the door. Dolly turned and winked. “Hi, honey,” she called out of the side of her mouth, holding two pins between her teeth. Then she went back to her customer. It was an adorable shop. Clark had painted and put up shelving and Dolly and I spent the entire evening prior to the opening arranging the merchandise. It had a beach feel to it; driftwood and an assortment of shells were mounted on the walls, and the merchandise she’d selected was perfect for socializing, summering, Montauk, city women. The centerpiece was a table of her summer hats displayed on head forms. There were straw hats with wide brims, fascinators, navy small-brimmed straws with veils, a fabric bonnet, a straw cloche, a felt cloche, a boat hat, some with a simple hatband and a pin, and others so embellished with flowers and ribbons you could barely make out the hat itself. One even sported a small bird in a nest, atop a wide brim. It really was a stunning showcase.

  Around the perimeter of the room, there were displays set up for each featured designer. Regine Brenner was one of those featured—because, as Dolly liked to say, who didn’t need to refresh her lingerie drawer when her husband was coming out every weekend? Dolly couldn’t keep enough lingerie in stock; the women were snatching up the merchandise as though they might never be able to get their hands on lacy delicates again. I held up a champagne-colored piece and wondered what Thomas would think if he saw me in something like it.

  “Bea, there’s nothing in your size left!” Dolly called out. “I have another delivery coming tomorrow, I hope. Apparently the ocean air is making everyone a little frisky.”

  “Oh, I don’t need anything,” I said, quickly setting it down and moving on to the next display case. Swimsuits by Claude. I picked up a suit; it had a halter top, black all down the left side and white all down the right, with a zigzag down the middle. Another caught my fancy, with a belted skirt bottom and a floral design climbing up one side.

  “These are divine, Dolly,” I said.

  “Oh yes, Claude, he’s amazing, isn’t he? Those just arrived this morning on the Fisherman’s Special. He’s in the same building as my factory. I adore him. I have to introduce you to him when we are back in the city. You would love him.”

  “Can I try one on?” I asked.

  “Of course,” she said. “Fitting room is in the back. I’ll come help you when I’m done here.”

  I browsed some more before I reached the fitting room. Bracelets, earrings, beach robes, parasols, straw handbags. She’d done a remarkable job of gathering the best pieces for a location like Montauk, a miniature version of the department stores that were beginning to crop up in the city and abroad.

  I heard the bell ring and a new crowd of customers arrived, so I took my time in the fitting room, allowing Dolly to attend to them. I’d been considering telling her about Thomas that day. I held such a big secret and I desperately wanted Dolly to understand how my life had been turned upside down over the past month or so, but I needed to catch her alone. I stood for a while and looked at my face in the mirror. My hair was getting long; even loose and in curls around my face it was down to my chest and blonder from the sun than usual, only a hint of red. I stared hard, but I looked different somehow. I made eye contact, waiting for some sort of response, as though my own reflection might talk back and offer some words of wisdom. I wanted someone to tell me my next steps and I wanted Dolly to give me her blessing. As I removed my day dress and began to untie my undergarments I could hear the voices of the women in the store getting louder.

  “These are darling, aren’t they?” one lady said. “Vivian, you should get these earrings: they’d look good with your eyes.” They must’ve been right outside the fitting room curtain eyeing the jewelry.

  “I’ll be with you ladies in just a minute,” I heard Dolly call from across the room. “I just have to run to the stock room upstairs.”

  “No rush,” someone called back; then they returned to their conversation.

  “You can’t get those earrings,” another woman chimed in. “I’ve seen them on someone at the Manor.”

  “Beatrice Bordeaux has those earrings.”

  I froze at the sound of my name.

  “Of course she does,” someone said in a loud whisper. “She’s best buddies with Little Miss Shopkeeper; of course she gets first dibs at everything.” It was Jeanie’s voice; I could pick it out a mile off. “Speaking of, did you hear she’s not even sleeping in the same room as her husband anymore?”

  “What? I didn’t know that!” Someone must have stepped closer to Jeanie and to the fitting room, because the curtain separating me from them swayed and rippled. I felt as though I were in the huddle with them. I stepped away from the dividing curtain and pushed my back against the mirror.

  “Apparently someone broke into their room,” Jeanie said.

  “And stole money, I heard.” It sounded like Kathleen’s voice.

  “That’s what they’re saying; that’s the story they’re spinning.” This was Jeanie talking. “But that’s not what really happened. Apparently one of his lovers broke in and scribbled absurdities on his mirror in her lipstick.”

  The women gasped. “How do you know?”

  “I have my sources.” Jeanie laughed.

  “Whoever the woman is, she’s a fool.” It sounded like Kathleen speaking. “If she’d kept her mouth shut she’d probably still be in his bed and he’d still be showering her with gifts and money.”

  “Well, what I heard”—Jeanie was back in charge of the conversation—“was that he told this girl he was going to leave Beatrice for her.” More gasps. From me as well. I had to hold my hands over my mouth. Oh, the humiliation of hearing these women gossip about me like this with nothing but a sheet of fabric hanging between us. “And then the gal got angry because he hadn’t done anything about it for months and apparently she found out she was one of many.”

  “Well, of course,” someone said. “I’d be angry, too, but do these women really think these men will leave their wives?” A few of them laughed. “And risk the s
ocial humiliation?”

  “And risk losing money.”

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I had to find out who this woman was who’d broken in and rifled through my personal belongings; how dare she have an affair with my husband and then insult me that way, and to think that Jeanie knew who it was. I was disgusted.

  “Oh my,” Jeanie said, “look how beautiful this silk chemise teddy is; it looks like pink champagne.” The women moved away from the fitting room and began oohing and ahing over Regine Brenner’s lingerie. “Oh, my husband would just die if I wore this.”

  “Buy it,” one woman urged.

  “That’s the only one I have and it has a little tear on it right by the strap!” Dolly called out to Jeanie as she walked back into the store. “Your tailor could fix it, I’m sure, but Regine only sent one. Have you seen the way it crisscrosses in the back? And it snaps so you can take it off quickly.” Dolly laughed.

  “So alluring,” Jeanie said. “It may be your last one, but it’s in my size,” she said. “Should I try it on, ladies?”

  I was about to be exposed and humiliated. I should have gotten dressed and walked out long before I let them talk about me that way. Now I had to hope to stay hidden in the fitting room until they left or risk someone pulling the curtain back and seeing me. And of course Dolly would soon come over and blow my cover. I had no choice. I quickly put my clothes back on, touched up my lipstick, arranged my hair, took a deep breath and walked out of the fitting room into the store and over toward Dolly. I heard a gasp and the women went quiet.

  “I’m so sorry, Dolly,” I said, kissing her quickly on the cheek. “I have to go, but we’ll talk later.”

  “Okay, bye, thanks for stopping in.”

  “By the way, it looks really fabulous in here,” I said as I turned to the three women. “I imagine there’s been a lot of gossip about me and Harry, and for good reason. Marriage isn’t always what you expect it to be. Life can be so beautiful and then everything can change in an instant. It’s not easy. But I am doing the best I can.”