The Red Coat

by Dolley Carlson

  “Of course not. It’s just been a while, and the house is happier when you’re in it.” Cordelia gave him a peck on the cheek. “Welcome home, Pip.”

  He looked around again. “Mother would be proud.” Pip walked up to a golden Regency mirror and tamed his hat-mussed, sandy hair while talking to Cordelia’s attentive reflection directly behind him. “I see this is one of your changes. Very nice Cappy, much more elegant than the old Chippendale, but then you’ve always had an eye for décor.”

  “Come on, handsome. Let’s not waste our precious time together looking in the mirror.” Cordelia put her arm through his, but he smoothly pulled away. “I’ll be right back.” He started to run upstairs, and his long legs easily took two at a time. “I need to get a few things from my old room, so I don’t forget them later.”

  “Can’t it wait, Pip? Dinner is just about ready to be served.”

  He stopped halfway up and spun around. “It can, but don’t let me forget.” His smile was mischievous as he slid down the banister and landed, just as he did when they were children, right in the center of one of the black-and-white marble tiles.

  And this is the man in charge of Parker Shipping?

  “Is that Hilda’s roast chicken with apple dressing that I smell?”

  “Yes, and she’s terribly excited about cooking for you, but we’ll let the rest of our menu be a surprise.”

  Cordelia rarely saw her brother these days, and although he annoyed her considerably with his questionable lifestyle and vain antics, she missed him. But with his increased responsibilities at Parker Shipping and preferred activities of Harvard alum events, spectator sports, sailing, squash at his club’s gymnasium, various girlfriends and night life, there was little time left for Sunday dinners with his “spinster sister.”

  The Women's City Club of Boston

  Cordelia’s days were also full as she faithfully kept track of her parents’ charitable endeavors, which though independently managed, she felt duty-bound to show an ongoing interest in, as well as volunteer work at the Red Cross and U.S.O., keeping up with friends and family, particularly her elderly aunties, and her pursuit of other interests as well, including church, the D.A.R., The Women’s City Club of Boston, and what Cordelia called “my saving grace—lunches out with the girls.”

  Shortly, the two siblings would take their seats at the dining room table directly across from each other, as they always had, with Pip closest to the fireplace. Their father’s chair at the head of the table and their mother’s at the opposite end would remain empty.

  Price Irving Parker III was what some would call a man about town. Others less cordial branded him “a womanizer, a gambler, and thirsty,” so unlike his father, Price Irving Parker II, his reputation impeccable apart from penny pinching and the rare second brandy. If father and son had been in a contest of contrast, surely they would have taken top prize. The father was conservative, deliberate, surprisingly sentimental at times, and a one-woman man. His son lived for the moment with a charming, cavalier here today, gone tomorrow, “love ’em and leave ’em” way of thinking.

  The safety net of family money and his parents’ favor left little accountability for Pip, with the exception of one irate father, who demanded his daughter’s reputation be saved with a wedding ring, but eventually accepted a sizeable check in its stead. Pip, handsome, persuasive, enchanting, debonair Pip, was, in a word, a scoundrel.

  Women, he loathed their “Do you love me?” And “when we get married” always rang in the end of a relationship. Women, he loved them: blondes, brunettes, redheads, there was no preference; showgirls, society girls, shop girls. He did, however, feel particularly attracted to women with what he called “substantial physical assets.” And Scollay Square, home to honkytonks, burlesque houses, bars, restaurants, small businesses, and big hotels seemed to hold a bevy of them.

  Shirley Simonson—the latest in a string of beautiful young women Pip entertained in his posh apartment—was a showgirl at the grand Old Howard Theater, which featured the biggest names in show business, presented “high-class strippers,” and drew customers from all walks of life: sailors and soldiers, rowdy frat boys, couples of every class looking for a naughty night out, businessmen, politicians, blue-collar workers, traveling salesmen, and more.

  Many Bostonians, though they’d hesitate to articulate such a thing, considered sneaking into the famous burlesque theater a “healthy” young man’s rite of passage.

  Pip and Cordelia lingered at the table over coffee and a dessert of devil’s food layer cake, catching up with the news each had to offer, until he suggested they retire to the parlor, and reached across the table for a black lacquer, Asian-inspired cigarette box, taking it and a close-by silver lighter with him.

  Upon entering the comfort and warmth of their mother’s favorite room, and before either one sat down, Pip lit up and said, “Cappy, I need to talk to you about Parker Shipping.”

  “We’re having such a nice visit. Can’t it wait, Pip?”

  “I’m afraid not, sis.” He raised an eyebrow, and Cordelia sighed. They both continued to stand and silently stared out a large French-paned window at the falling snow.

  Cordelia particularly liked the way it collected on tree branches in pristine puffs. “Is it any wonder this room was Mother’s favorite place to be? It’s like having a moving picture of the seasons. Lovely.”

  What happened next changed everything, everything as they’d known it.

  Cordelia, stoic by nature, felt sick to her stomach when she heard Pip’s updates. Her brother was in trouble, and more specifically, the family business was in trouble because of her brother. Parker Shipping was going down unless he raised some capital at once.

  Neither one moved from where they were as Pip discussed the gravity of the situation, and Cordelia wondered how he could have kept it to himself this long as he droned on with excuses. “Unfortunately, much to my disappointment, without Father at the helm, the war has taken its toll, it’s just a matter of time, didn’t want to trouble you” and so on.

  She remembered how accommodating their mother had been during several of his crises, stepping in and covering Pip’s tracks before things became worse, and very often, before her husband got wind of it. Is that what he expects? But how could I possibly? Our parents gave him complete power of attorney, and he alone owns the company.

  They continued to converse in an eerily calm manner. The fireplace crackled loudly, and what smelled delicious earlier now made Cordelia’s stomach churn that much more. She was definitely out of patience with the music her brother preferred. “Just One of Those Things” played next.

  Cordelia couldn’t turn the phonograph off soon enough. “I think this will go better without the distraction of Miss Lena Horne.” She felt like screaming from the tension of it all, but didn’t. However, the distraught young woman did resort to sarcasm, an untoward habit she’d tried to curb at her late mother’s urging, much to the disappointment of her friends who depended on its jab for pithy entertainment.

  Caroline Parker felt so strongly about her daughter’s random caustic speech she jotted down a list of antonyms for sarcasm and Scotch-taped it to Cordelia’s closet door. “In your coming and going, please determine to make these exemplary terms more representative of your charming character than they presently are—Friendliness, Good Humor, Kindness, Sweetness.” Cordelia’s sarcasm was typically a cover-up for her anxiety.

  “You’re to be congratulated on such expeditious mismanagement, Pip. What took generations to build you’ve managed to tear down in a mere eight months. Extraordinary!”

  “It wasn’t quite as bad as that, Cappy.” Pip was, to her amazement, smug. “In truth it’s taken me two years and eight months to do so.” He didn’t flinch.

  “I don’t believe it. Father would have known.” She held one arm over the other.

  “Not necessarily. As company controller, I had many opportunities. Let’s just leave it at that.” Pip was speaking so fervent
ly, Cordelia couldn’t get a word in.

  “Do you have any idea how unbearable it is to have all your days numbered and precisely planned by someone else? Father never once, not once mind you, asked if the salary he was paying me was sufficient. My expenses are far greater than his were at my age. Thus, he had a completely unrealistic estimation of what an adequate income would be for a man in my position.”

  Cordelia clearly recalled overhearing her parents discuss the matter one evening when she came home late from a Boston Pops summer concert on the Esplanade, tip-toed past the parlor, and hesitated at the foot of the stairs, undetected. Her mother had amiably implored, “Pip seldom seems to have enough money, dear.”

  And her father firmly replied, “Caroline, the boy has too much as it is. No more. It’s not in his best interest. Why, Pip makes double the amount Charles Thayer’s son does, and he’s practically running their textile mill.” The information had been exchanged by both fathers during a good meal at the Somerset Club.

  Cordelia looked her brother straight in the eye. “My God, Pip! Where did all the money go?” I don’t understand how this could have happened. He had every advantage.

  “I’m not finished yet, Cappy,” her older brother continued. “I approached father several times about an increase, and his answer was always the same, ‘In time, son, in time.’ He simply left me no choice but to draw on my inheritance. It was coming anyway. I just moved things along.” Pip drew on his cigarette and exhaled slowly. “I didn’t take anything that wasn’t coming to me.”

  “Yes, you did, Pip. You stole from the family’s share of the profits. If there’s no Parker Shipping, there can be no dividends for us, the aunties, our cousins.”

  “Shall we take a seat?” he asked.

  “Not yet, please.” Cordelia’s arms remained folded, her whole being solidly in place.

  “I knew you were gambling, Pip, but assumed you were doing so with some discretion, apparently not.” Cordelia tried to hold her anger in check. “And I’m well aware you had to pay off someone’s father, that couldn’t have been cheap—although the girl undoubtedly was—and your frequent visits to Scollay Square must cost a small fortune, and who knows what you spend on other romantic interests?” She picked up her pace. “How could you possibly have such degenerate values? Mother and Father were sterling. Their prudence protected our interests and their philanthropies provide enormous advantages for who knows how many people.”

  Cordelia was pacing so furiously several strands of her fine, ash-blonde locks slipped from beneath a russet silk headband and she brushed back the wispy annoyance without thought. “Your carousing and gambling are your business, but when they threaten the security of Parker Shipping and our very survival, they become my business. How bad is it, brother? Tell me the truth, and we’ll deal with it together. Before you have a chance to do any further damage.”

  “My, my, haven’t we become the little mother?” Pip grinned, sat down in his father’s chair, leaned to one side, tapped the ashes off his cigarette into an ashtray, laid it down in the same, and sat back, elbows on the arms of the chair, and fingertips to fingertips slowly moved his hands in and out. “Need I remind you that I hold all the financial strings, Cappy? It would behoove you to use a more respectful tone when we’re discussing family matters.”

  “You are absolutely delusional. Family matters, indeed.” Cordelia sat down in a straight-backed Windsor chair. “If you don’t face facts today, Pip, today, we’re apt to find ourselves completely ruined.”

  He remained absurdly calm, still holding his hands in the same position. “Not if you sell this house.”

  Cordelia couldn’t believe her ears and sat forward. “What did you say?” He couldn’t possibly expect me to do such a thing.

  “Not if you sell this house.” Pip pushed the hassock in front of him out of the way with one foot so he could cross his legs. “It should bring in a pretty penny, Cappy.”

  “A pretty penny? This house is all I have. You know that.” Cordelia was devastated by her brother’s cavalier suggestion, but determined not to cry.

  “The house is much too big for one person. You could get a smaller place on the hill for a fraction of the proceeds.”

  “This is insane.”

  “It would be most unfortunate, Cappy, if the situation had to go to court. Most unfortunate.”

  “Mother and Father’s will clearly stated the house is mine. There isn’t a judge in New England who’d side with you.” Against her resolve, hot tears welled up. “What’s done is done and I’ll do whatever I can to help you, but I’m not going to sell this house.”

  He offered her his handkerchief, but she refused to take it, her hand held up like a crossing guard. “Which by the way, I intend leaving feet first. If you outlive me, Pip, you’re welcome to it.”

  “Cappy, you’ve left me no alternative but to offer Parker Shipping to the highest bidder, and do you really want that on your conscience?”

  “Oh, Pip, please don’t do this. It’s just the two of us now, and frankly, conscience is the bottom rung of your argument. Conscience indeed, you of all people.”

  Their voices were moderately raised, and Hilda appeared, thinking maybe they were calling for her. “Is there something I can get for you?”

  Cordelia quietly replied, “No, thank you, Hilda. We’re fine for now.”

  Pip’s hands gripped the arms of the chair. “Cappy, why won’t you support me?”

  She ran to his side and stooped down. “It isn’t that I don’t want to support you, Pip. This house is all I have, and it’s all we have of Mother and Father. Don’t you see, if we sell, it will be like losing our parents all over again? I’m doing it for both of us, Pip. Come back to Mount Vernon, and save the expense of your apartment, just for now, all right?” Cordelia rose slowly, but her mind was racing with possibilities. “Have you considered selling your share of the Martha’s Vineyard property to our cousins?”

  Pip snapped, “You know how much I love Woodleigh. Giving up my portion is absolutely out of the question.”

  “I do too, but I’m willing to sell my share if it would help. We’re talking about survival.” Cordelia sat down again, this time on the soft velvet sofa, which was closer to him.

  Pip spent more time at Woodleigh cottage than all the cousins put together. Balmy weather, sailing, racing, and a pretty girl on board was Pip’s idea of a perfect day. His family belonged to the Edgartown Yacht Club, where he learned to sail as a child and later won the EYC Annual Regatta two years in a row.

  Pip lit another cigarette. “Cordelia, have you no heart?”

  “Perhaps I should ask the same of you, Pip. Your disregard for the family’s welfare seems fairly heartless to me.”

  “All right, Cappy, that does it.” He bolted out of the cushy chair. “Clearly you’ve no intention of cooperating. Parker Shipping goes on the block this week. And don’t worry. There’ll be a small amount of capital left for the family’s, as you say, ‘welfare.’” He crushed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “I’m truly sorry it had to be like this.” Pip stormed out of the room.

  “Pip, please.” Cordelia followed him. “Pip, listen to me.”

  Pip called, “Hilda, Hilda, where are you?”

  The housekeeper answered from afar, her German accent resounding from some place upstairs. “I’m coming, sir.”

  He about-faced in his sister’s direction. “Please, save your breath, Cordelia.”

  “Just a few words, Pip. I don’t want you to leave like this.”

  “The only words I want to hear from you are, ‘I’ll put the house on the market right away.’” He hastily buttoned his topcoat.

  Cordelia calmly replied. “I’m sorry. But I won’t. Ever.” And she handed him his hat.

  “Hilda, at last.” Pip gave the housekeeper a saccharin smile. “Thank you again for the delicious dinner.”

  “The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Pip.” She nodded and made a slight bow.

  “P
lease, give Rolf my best, and thank him for bringing some warmth to this house.” Pip pulled kid gloves from his coat pocket. “And Hilda, I’ll be sending a courier over tomorrow with a list of personal and family items I need you to pack up for me. He’ll return later in the day to collect them.” The perplexed housekeeper looked toward Cordelia.

  “It’s all right, Hilda. Pip can have anything he wants from my house.”

  Price Irving Parker III smoothly navigated his luxury sedan through the snowy streets and dismal darkness while flurries danced off the windshield to the beat of each wiper’s scrape, swoosh, scrape, swoosh.

  Pip’s carefully scripted visit hadn’t gone as planned, but instead of being distressed he was actually relieved and sang, sometimes whistled, the same cheery song again and again in route to his overheated apartment on Commonwealth Ave. Everything was looking up now that he knew what direction to take.

  Tomorrow he’d pursue his back-up plan and get the wheels in motion to sell Parker Shipping before there was no company left to offer, subsequently dispense adequate sums to the relatives to appease their loss, and take what was left with no further thought of his sister. Cordelia’s a smart girl. She’ll figure out how to take care of herself. She did a damn good job of it tonight. He’d pursue his dreams: warm, sunny weather, endless sailing, and all those gorgeous movie stars.

  “California, here I come.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Après la pluie, le beau temps

  After the rain, beautiful weather

  CORDELIA’S MONEY PROBLEMS LEFT HER no choice but to cut back on expenses.

  “Hilda and Rolf, there have been some unforeseen complications with my parents’ estate, and I’m no longer in a financial position to employ you. But rest assured you’ll have a home on Mount Vernon for as long as I do.”

  The far side of middle-age couple was left aghast as they stood before the lady of the house in her father’s study. Cordelia was standing behind his desk. She couldn’t bring herself to sit at it. Someday perhaps, but not yet.