All at once, Rosemary, Patsy, and James heard the most melodious voice, “Hello. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to greet you when you arrived.” They turned to see the lady of the house, dressed in a dark green, brocade coat dress, its small rhinestone buttons catching glints of light from nearby candles.
“I was making sure things were coming along in the kitchen. Welcome. I’m Mrs. Campbell, and you, I assume, are friends of one of my sons.”
“Why, yes, I am,” James answered. “Don and I have a couple of classes together at Boston College. I’m James Sheehan. This is my sister Patricia, and my date, Rosemary King.”
It caught Rosemary off guard to be called James’s date.
“Nice to meet you,” was exchanged by all, with James adding, “Thank you for opening your home,” just as Mr. Campbell walked up to them and handed his wife a cocktail.
“You’re a dear,” Mrs. Campbell said as she received the exquisite short glass bearing an etched C monogram. Rosemary noticed she was wearing red nail polish, which in her neighborhood, because of the nun’s strictly imposed standards, was considered cheap. However, here in this setting, it looked lovely. And she noted Mrs. Campbell’s hands were without chafing or scratches, as if they were taken out of gloves only for special occasions.
“An old fashioned for my old-fashioned girl,” Mr. Campbell replied with a wink and toasted his wife with his own glass, and another round of introductions were made.
“Here young man, let me hang up that coat.” Mr. Campbell offered. He leaned toward the parlor with a long-armed stretch and was about to put his drink on the baby grand piano.
Mrs. Campbell rushed to his side. “Darling, allow me.” She took his glass and placed her cocktail napkin beneath it. Rosemary had never seen a man drink like this, so casually and so slowly. Once her father had a bottle in front of him, most times it stayed there until it was empty.
“Cordelia. Cordelia Parker,” Mr. Campbell called, just as he was putting Rosemary’s coat in the guest closet. “Give me a minute.”
The open door blocked the red coat from view as Mr. Campbell greeted its original owner, Miss Cordelia Parker of Beacon Hill. It was as if heaven had choreographed every move and protected Miss Rosemary King of South Boston from what could have been the most embarrassing moment of her life. Norman Prescott was a close friend of the Campbells’ other son, Richard—Harvard man like himself—and he’d invited Cordelia to accompany him to the party.
“Cappy, it’s been much too long,” Mrs. Campbell said, taking Cordelia’s hand. She was delighted to see the daughter of her old friend, Caroline Parker. “Tell me, dear, how are your parents?” Mr. Campbell inquired.
“Doing very well, thank you. They’re at Symphony Hall tonight. Daddy and Mother have made The Messiah an annual tradition with his aunties.”
Cordelia looked toward the others. Obviously BC people. Neither girl showed any sign of fine jewelry—no locket, signet ring, or charm bracelet. Although the pretty blonde’s fake pearls are quite attractive. Cordelia prided herself on knowing who was who and what was what, and her friends found it quite amusing.
Rosemary was nobody’s fool, and knew exactly what Cordelia was up to. “I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said with all the confidence of a Brahmin, and grace of a girl brought up by a mother such as her own.
“Boston Brahmin” refers to Boston’s WASP upper crust. Coined in the article, “The Brahmin Caste of New England,” written by Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes Sr. for the Atlantic Monthly, the term was inspired by India’s caste system, in which Brahmin individuals are the highest ranking among Hindus. According to Holmes, Boston’s privileged Brahmin society was “harmless, inoffensive, untitled aristocracy.”
Cordelia Anne Parker and Rosemary Virginia King had already engaged in a wordless debate. Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the fairest of them all? Rosemary knew her beauty had the power to please or provoke, and she’d learned how to manage both situations amiably. Cordelia’s looks were classically English with a cameo complexion, flaxen hair, full smile and the faintest hint of what some called a “horse face,” and others called “patrician.” She stood a svelte five feet seven inches and was small bosomed, consequently the darts on her party dress almost looked like vertical seams. Rosemary couldn’t help but notice and remembered how one of her friends used to cleverly stuff socks into her brassiere. “Just so I’ll have a bump where there needs to be one,” her friend would explain.
Rosemary King wasn’t the least bit threatened by Cordelia Parker, and Cordelia Parker knew it. Just look at that self-assured grin. Who does she think she is? Beautiful, I’ll give her that. But she’s definitely not one of us. Cordelia was annoyed when Norman was particularly attentive to the unknown trio.
“I don’t recall seeing you at any of the other parties,” Norman told them. “Say, our whole crowd is going ice skating on the Common tomorrow. Would you like to join us?”
Before they could answer, Mrs. Campbell exclaimed, “My goodness, forgive me,” and introduced one and all with Cordelia and Rosemary greeting one another in turn.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“I’ve been admiring your headband.” Rosemary sincerely meant what she said about the headband.
Cordelia’s pageboy was held off her forehead with a dove-gray velvet, silver-dot-studded band. “Oh.” She put her hand to it. “My mother gave this to me, and I’m afraid I’ve worn it tonight only because I thought there was a possibility of her being here later. It’s not my taste at all. But thank you just the same. Your name again, please?” Cordelia had made her point.
Norman Prescott found Patricia Sheehan adorable and was pleased when she met his “Nice to meet you,” with a sweet smile and “Nice to meet you too.” He attempted to resume his earlier invitation. “As I was saying—”
Cordelia put her arm through his. “Norman Prescott, you told Jeff Atwater we’d join him ages ago,” she said, pulling him away. “Merry Christmas,” she said to the others, waving goodbye with her free hand.
Mrs. Campbell trilled, “We don’t want to keep you young people from the festivities one more minute. There’s lots of food and drink inside. Please, enjoy yourselves. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” they all chimed back.
Mr. Campbell offered Mrs. Campbell his arm, and they exited the entry hall chatting as if for the very first time. Rosemary was glad to see people her parents’ age living so happily and was stunned to see Mr. Campbell walk past the piano without picking up his drink.
“Well, shall we?” she said to James with a smile and a slightly open hand indicating the parlor. Patricia had already disappeared into the sea of festive holiday attire before them. Velvet, taffeta, fine wool, satin, silk, and cashmere-clad young men and women bobbed amidst waves of laughter, dancing, and conversation. Rosemary wished the evening would never end.
The phonograph was turned up to nearly full volume with a lively recording of crooner Bing Crosby and the gleeful Andrews Sisters singing Jingle Bells. A quartet of cheery coeds sang along to everyone’s enjoyment. Mistletoe hung over several doorways, and eager boys volleyed unsuspecting girls in that very direction. The house smelled of pine, candle wax, a pleasant “something’s in the oven,” and beneath it all, a subtle floral fragrance. Rosemary thought everyone at the party looked so happy-go-lucky, and she longed for what they all appeared to have, the perfect life.
“Ro, can I get you something to drink?” James inquired as they entered the fray. “There’s a punchbowl right over there,” he said, pointing the way. “Please, come with me.” James Sheehan knew if he left Rosemary alone he’d lose her to one of his friends. In fact, two were walking toward them right now. The tall one caught Rosemary’s attention. She liked the way he was dressed. Even though his dark suit was a bit rumpled, his white shirt and red print tie looked good, and the small candy canes he and his friend had hanging from the button holes in their lapels told her he had a sense of humor.
“Merry Christmas, James,” they said in unison.
“Tony, Arty, let me present Miss Rosemary King, and my sister, Patricia. Ladies, meet Tony Williamson, the brightest guy at BC, and Arty Feeney, our resident thespian and best Puck this side of the Charles River.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Miss King, Miss Sheehan,” they said, one at a time.
“Nice to meet you too, Mr. Feeney, Mr. Williamson.” Rosemary said, but she didn’t extend her hand, much to their disappointment. Patsy pleasantly nodded in agreement while Tony and Rosemary gave each other coy smiles at the formality of their introductions.
Tony Williamson couldn’t keep his eyes off Rosemary and asked himself why he would want to, noting that although slender, she wasn’t without curves.
Rosemary King wore a black velvet, princess-styled dress, made by her mother only last week, accessorized with a string of imitation pearls, matching earrings and bracelet, black, mid-high heels, and she preferred to carry the black velvet clutch purse trimmed in tiny pearl accented braid that Patsy’s mother had given her, saying, “I don’t know why I bought this, Rosy. It’s not like Mr. Sheehan and I ever go anyplace that fancy. But it was on markdown at Filene’s Basement, and I couldn’t resist. Here, you can borrow it, honey. What am I thinking? It’s yours.”
The contrast of Rosemary’s golden hair against the silhouette of her dark dress was striking. She was one of two blondes in her family, with softly waved, shoulder-length hair that was tucked behind one ear and fell just far enough in front of the other. And because Norah had once overheard a Beacon Hill matron caution her own daughter, “Bangs are common. No bangs,” Rosemary didn’t have any either. “Darlin’, you don’t know where God will lead your feet once they touch the floor in the mornin’, and we certainly don’t want you showin’ up common-lookin’,” Norah had imparted to her beloved daughter.
Patricia wore a brand new, pale blue wool, swing-skirted dress borrowed from her sister; she’d shortened the hem a tad, and managed to get out the door before their mother saw what she’d done. Presently, she waved from across the room, indicating she’d saved seats on one of three sofas. Thrilled, Arty thought she was waving to him, waved back, turned to the others, and said, “Hey, I’ll catch you later. I don’t want to keep Miss ‘five foot two, eyes of blue,’ waiting. Nice meeting you, Miss King.”
“Merry Christmas,” she replied.
James Sheehan lightly put his hand on her back, indicating they’d be moving on, and said, “Tony, Rosemary and I were just about to get some punch.” He’d seen the look in Tony’s eyes and wasn’t about to leave Rosemary with him for a minute. Rosemary, on the other hand, was annoyed by James’s presumption because she wasn’t his date.
Tony had his own agenda. “James, it’s a zoo over there by the punchbowl. With Miss King’s permission, I’d be honored to keep her company until you return.”
Rosemary glanced toward the crowded refreshment table and saw a young man quickly open a hip flask and liberally pour what looked like whiskey into a punch cup, spilling it in his haste. She was concerned if she went over there, her new dress would be ruined.
Just getting Rosemary to the party had taken every penny she and her mother had between them, and fortunately, the black velvet had been on sale at Grants. Kay had a pair of real silk stockings she was willing to loan her sister, and Rita had put the costume pearl jewelry set on layaway months ago, with all three sisters making payments until it was theirs. Rosemary thanked God for the coat. And for Mum getting it past Dad by stretching the truth. “Didn’t I pick it up in town where they were practically givin’ it away?”
“That’s perfectly fine with me, James,” she said and glanced at Tony as if to say, “What’s next?”
“We’ll be sitting right over there.” Tony looked toward a window seat.
“Can I get you some punch too, Williamson?” James was trapped, and he knew it.
“No, thanks. I’m all set,” Tony said, and raised his cup. “But I’d sure appreciate it if you could bring back a few of those little sandwiches.” Turning to Rosemary he asked, “Are you hungry, Miss King?”
“No. Thank you.” She opened her purse, tucked her gloves inside, and gazed again toward the parlor. Conversation flowed easily between them. Tony couldn’t believe he was actually talking with the girl of his dreams. He sat with his arms folded and legs straight out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. Rosemary caught sight of his well-polished shoes, found his long narrow feet elegant, and admired the genteel ease of his manner.
“So tell me, Rosemary—may I call you Rosemary?”
“Of course. Your formality is unnecessary, Mr. Williamson.” They both laughed. She was sitting quite straight—but not stiffly—with her legs tucked close and crossed at the ankles, because her mother and the nuns insisted, “It isn’t at all ladylike to cross your legs at the knees.” Her hands rested on her lap, to the side.
“If you’ll pardon my question, Rosemary, are you and Sheehan an item? I mean are you …” Tony nervously tapped his right heel, a habit he would have for the rest of his life.
“Tony, you don’t mind if I call you Tony, do you?” Rosemary was still smiling although she was nervous too, and opened and closed her pocketbook. “James Sheehan’s like a brother to me. His sister, Patricia, is my closest friend, and he invited both of us to this party. To answer your question, no, we’re not an item.” She was still smiling.
“Well, I’m delighted to hear it, Rosemary King. And if you don’t think it too forward of this fella who’s sitting before you, may I have your phone number?”
Rosemary put her pocketbook down on the window seat and turned toward Tony.
“I’m sorry to say—”
“Oh, oh. There’s someone … else.” Tony, captain of the debate team, could barely get the words out.
“My family doesn’t have a telephone but you could leave a message with our downstairs neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Flynn. They have one. And I’ll get back to you as soon as I can. Or, you could call Patricia at her father’s store, and she’ll get word to me. We see each other almost every day.”
It wasn’t uncommon for a family not to have a telephone in their home. Many relied on the kindness of neighbors who had one to pass along important messages, or allow them to take and make calls of the same nature.
“That’ll work out fine.” Tony reached in his pocket for a pen. “I’ll write the numbers right here on my cuff, that way I won’t lose them.” He pushed his coat sleeve back.
“What if the ink doesn’t come out in the laundry?” Rosemary asked with the familiarity of an old friend.
“I don’t consider that a problem,” he assured her. “As a matter of fact, I’d regard it as Providence if it never came out.”
Tony was on cloud nine and decided to go for broke and ask her for a date right then and there.
~ Blinstrub’s ~
The Showplace of New England
Delightful Dinners – Dancing
Two Shows – 8:15 & 11 PM
New Year’s Eve
Reservations Include
Show, Dancing, Fun Favors,
Taxes and Tips
Reservations AN 8-7000
300 Broadway, South
Boston, Mass.
Blinstrub’s held over 850 people
and drew the biggest names in
entertainment.
“Rosemary, a group of us are going to Blinstrub’s on New Year’s Eve for dinner and a show. It promises to be quite an evening. Would you consider being my date? I’m sure you’d like some time to think about your answer. May I phone you on Tuesday night?”
“No and yes. No, I don’t need time to think about my answer, and yes, I’d enjoy going to Blinstrub’s with you on New Year’s Eve.”
When Tony’s friends invited him to come with them on New Year’s Eve, he decided to go stag, because New Year’s Eve was pretty special, and he didn’t want to take just anyone. His friends were merciless. “H
ey Williamson, you’re not planning on being a priest now, are you?” He could hardly wait to see the looks on their faces when he walked into Blinnie’s with Miss Rosemary King on his arm.
Rosemary liked Tony Williamson very much. It wasn’t his charm, intelligence, or eagerness that won her over. It was the kindness she saw in his eyes and the way he looked at her. Much like Mr. Campbell looked at his wife when she took his arm only a short while ago.
“That’s swell, Rosemary. May I still phone you on Tuesday night?”
James Sheehan’s hands were full. He balanced two punch cups in one and a plateful of finger sandwiches in the other. “I return with treasures from the table. Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long? Hey Williamson, some people over there were asking for you. Something about New Year’s Eve plans. Said I’d send you right their way.”
James thought he couldn’t have planned his next move better if he’d tried. Tony Williamson was pretty cagey, but now he’d unknowingly provided a perfect segue to James’s carefully rehearsed request. Asking Miss Rosemary King to be his date for New Year’s Eve.
CHAPTER 10
That I should love a bright particular star
And think to wed it is so above me.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
WHEN TONY PICKED ROSEMARY UP at her parents’ apartment for their New Year’s Eve date, there was, as later described by one of her sisters, “hell to pay.”
“Mum, Dad, I’d like you to meet Tony Williamson.”
Norah was pleased—I like the look of him; there’s depth in his eyes—and tickled that her poised daughter was actually blushing. Now that’s a first.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. King.” Norah’s sturdy build and sense of propriety reminded Tony of his own mother.
“And you as well, young man. My daughters been speakin’ of nothin’ else but your good character.”
Rosemary blushed again. “Mum.”
Tony put the corsage box in his left hand and extended his right. “Mr. King, how do you do, sir?”
The Red Coat Page 11