Beautiful Days

by Anna Godbersen

  “Do you really think I have a big future?” She turned suddenly and found that he was closer than she had realized.

  “Yes.” His gaze held hers, and she forgot about the city’s many stages and all the showgirls striving to get on them. His mouth wasn’t far from hers; it would have only taken either one of them leaning slightly forward to produce a kiss, and for a long moment neither moved or took a breath.

  When awkwardness began to creep in, she broke the silence with, “Thank you for taking me to the movies.” But she spoke too formally and her voice carried strangely over the urban din.

  His lips parted with the intention of a reply. But he didn’t reply. Instead he stepped forward and put his lips against hers. When he drew back he did so only slightly, and she heard his breath becoming rapid. Faintly, she sensed his heartbeat. She had almost forgotten about all the other parts of her body when she felt his palm against her palm, just before he pressed his lips to hers again.

  Often, when they were sitting by the pool or driving through the surrounding farms, Cordelia and Astrid would talk about kissing, and from their stories, Letty knew that they had done a good deal of it. She herself had only been kissed once, by Amory Glenn, under hateful and frightening circumstances. It did not occur to her until later that this was only her second kiss, so natural did it feel to be standing there on Broadway with Grady holding both her hands and pausing now and then to meet her gaze, as though he wanted to be careful not to offend her modesty, or else didn’t quite believe that he was actually kissing a girl he’d thought of for so long.

  The reality of the sidewalk, and the city spreading out around it in blocks by the hundreds, came rushing back to her when she heard the applause. She turned her dark head left and right and saw that all around them, passersby were gawking and whistling and clapping.

  “Look at those two young lovers!” called an old man in the ticket booth of a nearby theater. “They can’t keep their hands off each other.”

  All of Letty’s upbringing told her that she ought to feel shame at this moment. That being caught kissing in public would lead to months of judgments and recriminations from everyone she knew. But the faces of the people in the street, rosy with the light of the marquee and good cheer, didn’t look judgmental. And the touch of Grady’s hand in hers was too gentle and strong and wonderful-feeling to be bad. She smiled and gave a little bow, which heightened the applause around them, and then Grady took her under his arm and they walked on together.

  From now on she would remember this kiss as her first, she decided. And when she was famous she could tell the tale of how significant it was that she had been kissed for the first time on Broadway.

  Chapter 10

  CORDELIA WAS STANDING ON THE VERANDAH OF THE Calla Lily Suite, trying not to smoke, when she spotted Danny emerging from the allée of lindens and holding a yellow square of paper that looked very much like a telegram. Immediately she turned and hurried downstairs.

  “What’s got you so jittery?” he asked, having handed the yellow paper over to her on the front steps. She gave him a piercing look and decided not to explain that her long face was because the telegram was addressed to Letty, and not to her. It had been five days since Max Darby had taken her up in his airplane, and every day that passed without a word from him made her feel curiously earthbound and dull. Summer storms had kept her indoors yesterday and the day before. Another five days like this would make her mad with cabin fever.

  “Nothing, just the heat,” she lied. In fact the rain yesterday had cooled the air, however slightly. “It’s getting to all of us.”

  “Maybe.” Danny grinned. “But you sure got down here awful quick even if it is so hot.”

  “Danny, go back to your post,” she replied blandly. She was wearing a tank-sleeved dress of midnight blue that exposed her knees, flattered her long, tanned limbs, and brought out the warm hues in her brown eyes. If he had thought about it at all, it would have been easy for him to see that she was trying to look pretty for someone.

  “As you like, Miss Grey,” he replied with a courtly flourish of his hand, and then trotted back down toward the big black gates that marked the entrance of Dogwood. As soon as he was out of sight, she stepped into the humid afternoon and scanned the gray skies and the horizon line of treetops hopefully. But there was no sign of any bothersome intruders, so she turned around and padded toward the ballroom, where she found Letty standing in front of a mirror and earnestly singing one of the old campfire tunes, and Astrid listening from the bench of the white baby grand piano as she attempted to crochet something.

  “Telegram for you,” Cordelia announced as she sat down next to Astrid.

  Letty stopped singing but did not immediately come to see what the missive was about. She paused long enough to straighten the angled black line of her short hair and playfully bounce her shoulders up and down before skipping over, swinging her slender arms, which were draped in loose, bell-shaped white lace sleeves that lent her an especially nymphlike air. As she approached the piano she went up on her toes and twirled several times like a ballerina, then bowed deeply and dramatically for her two friends, who clapped.

  “Well, who is it from?” Astrid demanded, sighing as the excitement died down.

  Cordelia handed the telegram over to Letty, picked up Astrid’s crochet, and began to idly undo her last few uneven stitches.

  Letty ripped open the telegram and read it over quickly, and by the time her eyes had scanned to the bottom, she was smiling and biting her lower lip. “He wants me to meet his family this Saturday,” she gasped.

  “Who does?” Astrid asked, folding herself forward over her crossed knees and resting her chin on her hand.

  “That nice fellow who took her to the movies.” Cordelia looked up from the crochet work and gave Letty a wink. “Grady.”

  “Have I met him? I can never remember anybody, darling,” Astrid explained apologetically. “Is he very handsome?”

  Letty turned her head to the side and placed a contemplative finger over her lips. In a girlish, musing way she replied, “He is handsome. I didn’t see it at first. But there is something so nice about his eyes . . . and he dresses . . . I don’t know how to describe it, except to say that he looks cosmopolitan, intelligent, like he knows all kinds of people and places.”

  “Who are his parents, I wonder?” Astrid said. She had rested her head on Cordelia’s shoulder to watch the way her fingers quickly worked the hook over the white yarn. “Not that it matters,” she added.

  “Oh, I don’t know . . . I suppose his mother owns some little restaurant in the village and that his father writes for one of the socialist papers. It doesn’t matter to me. He said he thinks we’re both going to be famous, and that someday he’ll write screenplays for pictures that I’ll star in!”

  Cordelia’s mouth formed a lopsided smile. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

  “Anyway, can I invite him when the club opens, Cordelia? I would almost say he’s my first fan—besides you, of course. He always gave me such encouragement, and that night at Seventh Heaven when I jumped onstage—”

  “When was that? You’ve never told me that story. You know you are supposed to tell me all your stories!” Astrid exclaimed.

  “Can you believe I did that?” Stars sparkled in Letty’s eyes at the memory. “I scarcely can. It was because Cordelia was there, and I couldn’t stand the idea that she’d think I was just a cigarette girl, you know . . . Cordelia, do you remember?”

  Indeed Cordelia did remember, and she was about to relate the story of the night Thom Hale took her to Seventh Heaven, how when she entered that vast hall of debauchery, she saw a vision of a chanteuse, dazzling and confident in front of the band, and only afterward realized that it was a girl she’d known since they were both sporting scraped knees. . . .

  But before she could get a word out, the phone rang in the next room, and her thoughts scattered over the possibility that it was Max Darby, calling for her. Her heart
fluttered and her thoughts got quiet.

  “Cordelia, darling, where did you go?” Astrid, speaking briskly, took Cordelia’s shoulder and shook it. “Come back, why don’t you.”

  “Sorry, I—” In the next room, she could vaguely hear Jones on the telephone, and her heart sank realizing that it was not for her. Of course, she and Max had made no plans. He hadn’t explicitly said that they would see each other again; she was only making herself crazy, wondering when she’d get the chance to go on another adventure with him. “I don’t know where I went.”

  “She’s lovesick!” Astrid gasped gaily.

  The word love clanged in Cordelia’s ears. She worked the crochet hook faster and narrowed her eyes. “No—no. It can’t be love, I hardly know him, I only went flying that once and—”

  “Ah ha! So it is that flyboy. I knew it,” Astrid went on. “What fun it will be when Cordelia is with her pilot and Letty with her writer and Charlie and I will be king and queen of our roost, and we’ll host splendid parties—everyone will think I’m such a genius at inviting people, but really of course it’s just that I keep such good company always. I can’t wait for that. Tonight I think I am going to practice my hostess skills, have just an intimate dinner with Charlie and see how I do . . .”

  Gently, Letty reached forward and took the hook and yarn out of Cordelia’s hands, which had become rather frantic while Astrid fantasized. Cordelia sighed. “Well, I don’t know that Max’ll want to come to any parties with me anytime soon . . .”

  “But you do like him?” Letty asked earnestly.

  “Yes,” Cordelia confessed. “He’s proud and rigid, really, and he doesn’t like any of the things I like. I don’t know why I’m even thinking about him!”

  “Oh, I know why.” Astrid giggled and leaned back against the piano, so that the keys made a faint noise. “You like him because he flies so high.”

  That sounded too simple to Cordelia, and she tried to think of what it really was about Max Darby that made her so desperate to see him again—but then her mind fixated on his self-assured comportment, the piercing blue of his eyes, and the things he had said to her while they were aloft before. “I like him because . . .” she murmured. “I don’t even know if I like him exactly, it’s just that I want to see him again so badly.”

  “Well, then you should see him soon!” Letty exclaimed with the bright optimism of a girl in the first throes of a new crush.

  “I suppose.” Cordelia shifted on the piano bench. “But he doesn’t seem very likely to come back around at the moment.”

  “Then you ought to go find him, darling,” Astrid interjected. “Think of something fun to do and then go knock on his door and tell him he’ll be doing it with you. That’s what I would do if I . . .” She paused and giggled and waved her hand in the air as though she were waving away a naughty thought. “That’s what I would do.”

  Cordelia turned her head to the side and considered this. She’d never chased after a boy—when John Field, who she’d left behind in Union, was courting her, she’d only glanced at him a few times in the right way, and then he had chased her for weeks until she agreed to be his sweetheart. And Thom had always seemed drawn to her as though by some strange magnetism. But her life had changed dramatically since then, twice, so why should she think that it would unfold as it had in the past? Letty had drifted back to the center of the waxed floor, where she was pirouetting dreamily and half watching her friend. “Why are you smiling so big?” she asked.

  “No reason.” Cordelia tried to make herself stop smiling, but the idea of what she was going to do was making her feel light with nervous excitement and almost powerless over her expressions. “Nothing.”

  “When will you be back?” Astrid asked.

  “I don’t know,” Cordelia said, backing toward the door.

  “Charlie won’t like it.” Astrid winked. “But I do.”

  “In that case, don’t tell him!”

  By then her blood was pumping and her feet could scarcely keep up with the demands of her busy brain, which was appreciating, more and more every second, how right Astrid was. Max Darby didn’t like her because she sat around in a big stuffy house on summer days, alternating between the lunch table and the swimming pool. It was possible that he didn’t even like her per se—but he did admire her. And he admired her because she had driven with a sure and steady hand on a night when they were both in danger. Well, she could drive yet more steadily today, and she had nothing else to do, and a car at her disposal, and surely he would be more impressed by her showing up wherever he was than by waiting around for him like some fragile indoor pet.

  It took her only a few moments of rooting through the back corners of her closet to locate a pair of snakeskin T-strap heels and a white scarf, which she tied Indian style over her forehead and knotted in the back. Danny gave her another look at the gate, but she ignored him.

  “Not sure Charlie would want you driving that car,” he protested faintly, pushing his flopping red hair off his forehead.

  “I’ll have it back before dark.”

  “But where are you going?”

  “It’s none of your business where I’m going, and anyway, I told you I’d be back soon enough.”

  “Charlie won’t like it,” Danny repeated.

  But the gate was standing open, and she had accelerated through it and down the lane before he could stop her.

  When Max had taken her up in his airplane he’d shown her where he lived, and she supposed that she could find Mr. and Mrs. Hudson Laurel’s estate easily enough. Her instincts told her he was at the airfield, however, and indeed she was right. He was up in a red biplane that looked especially dramatic against the gathering dark clouds as he rose high and then swooped low over the heads of the technicians who were gathered by the hangar. She’d seen him do this trick before, but this time it made her heart flutter to think of what would happen if he did it wrong. Of course he pulled back just in time—and Cordelia, wanting to seem as nonchalant as the men wearing goggles and grease-stained jumpsuits, fought the impulse to applaud.

  When he did finally land, the men by the hangar rushed forward to help him down. She could see them pointing in her direction and knew that they were telling him there was a girl waiting. He took a white rag from one of the men and wiped his brow, and then he came walking toward her, his path straight but not at all hurried, and his gaze fixed on the ground. He was wearing his usual uniform, the white T-shirt tucked into cargo pants, and there were places where the T-shirt was darkened with sweat. Just as he came into earshot, he lifted his eyes and smiled. After that she stopped wondering whether or not she should have come.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting you,” she called.

  “No.” He paused and appraised her, a few feet of humid air between them. For some reason, she stepped forward and offered him her hand to shake, as though they were business associates or men who have just discovered they’d attended the same college. “It’s no weather for flying.”

  “Good! Then you will have no reason to refuse when I ask you to go for a drive with me.”

  He paused and his eyes went from her hand, as he let it go, to her face. “All right,” he said simply. Then he turned and waved in the direction of the other airmen, who were pushing the shiny red plane into the hangar.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I drive,” she said, turning and opening the car door.

  “Miss Grey, I have no interest in telling you what to do or not to do.” He closed the passenger-side door behind him and watched her as she started up the car.

  “Really? It’s funny—I’ve been trying not to smoke all day because I got the notion you didn’t fancy it.”

  “I don’t fancy it,” he replied as they sped toward the main road. “But I admit I’d be disappointed if I thought you were changing your behavior to please me.”

  “That’s very interesting.” She tried to hide the happy upturn of her lips and kept the car straight.

  For a w
hile they drove in silence. The sun broke through the heavy clouds far out over the water, and to the east, showers chased them across peach farms. They kept the top up and the windows down. The car jostled her, but she liked it, as she liked the exhilaration of the wind in her hair, whipping sun-streaked tendrils across her cheeks.

  “Did you drive a lot where you’re from?” he asked presently.

  “Only in emergencies, or to do an errand for my aunt. Not this kind of driving. Driving for the sake of driving, with nowhere in particular to go.” She turned to him and met his eyes. “I like this kind of driving.”

  “You must miss her.”

  “No.” Cordelia shook her head firmly. In the next moment, she began to worry that might sound too hard. “My ma died when I was little. I can’t even remember her. My aunt thought it was her duty to care for me, but she didn’t want me any more than I wanted her . . . but you must understand, aren’t you an orphan?”

  “I don’t think of myself as one,” he said, and then seemed not to want to say any more.

  Before she could think of another topic of conversation, they came around the bend and saw a filling station, and she pulled over for gas. She climbed out and walked around the hood toward the pump, but Max was there with his his hand on the nozzle before she could reach for it.

  “And all this time I thought you admired me for being such a modern girl,” she exclaimed in amusement.

  “I’m sure you are.” He gave her a serious look and then let his eyes drift down over her figure. “But I’ll not have you ruining a pretty dress like that just to prove you don’t need me. I suspect we’re both too practical for that.”

  “Are you sure it’s practicality?” She leaned back against the car, crossing her arms over her chest and watching him pump gas with a playful light in her eyes. The air had that sweet, dusty smell that always comes just before it rains—she could tell rain was coming on, but it hadn’t started yet. “But of course I wouldn’t want to offend your sensibilities by accusing you of anything as pitiable as chivalry.”