Beautiful Days

by Anna Godbersen

  Letty didn’t know what celluloid was, but she nodded anyway. “I guess that’s it.”

  He laughed and took another sip. “You feel like you know me, and yet you don’t?”

  “Yes, exactly like that.” She was vaguely aware of women off to the side staring at her jealously, but she didn’t care anymore. They were staring because she and Valentine made a very glamorous picture, and though she couldn’t blame them, she was starting to believe that her rightful place was in the picture.

  “But I feel the same way about you,” Valentine went on, leaning his elbow on the bar. “As though I know you somehow, even as I’m meeting you for the first time. I felt that when you were on the stage, you know, this—familiarity.”

  The way Valentine looked at her, his very presence seemed a confirmation that she was the most gorgeous girl in the room, as though her skin were made of gold dust and flower petals and her eyes were pure sapphire. It seemed as though he was about to tell her that their meeting here tonight had been written in constellations, that it didn’t matter that he was married to Sophia Ray, that they were two separated halves of one creature, divided long ago and seeking each other ever since.

  “Like destiny, you mean?” Letty whispered.

  But Valentine only laughed, not unkindly, and shook his head. “No, of course not, nobody believes in destiny anymore.”

  “Oh,” she faintly whispered. For a moment she had been willing to believe in any outrageous fortune—a million dollars had been left to her, the Raja wanted her to come ride elephants with him, a movie star was her one, true love.

  “Except when they go to the pictures, of course, or when they forget themselves in a dark theater,” he went on, apparently not noticing her fallen face. “That’s because of stars, performers with the talent to make them feel that life is beautiful and magnificent and built upon a cosmic scheme. I hope you won’t find me immodest for saying that I have a little of that—it’s my only skill, really, and it’s allowed me to make a handsome fortune in the show-business racket. You have it, too. That is what I saw up there.”

  If Letty was disappointed to realize that Valentine O’Dell didn’t think they were destined for each other, her disappointment didn’t last long. That would have been too good to be true, anyway. He recognized in her a talent comparable to his own, and that was worth much more in the long run.

  “I want to propose something to you,” he said, refilling his glass from the silver bucket. “And you must not think that I am lascivious. I am married, as you may know, to the actress Sophia Ray, so you can trust that my motives are purely those of a gentleman and a comrade. I would like to mentor you. I think you have something that one in a thousand, one in a million girls have, and I think with some training, I could turn you into a screen star.”

  “You mean you want to put me in the movies.”

  He smiled, in the way she had seen him smile at children in his films. “Yes. You do need some training, but natural talent you have in spades. What I propose is this: Come live with Sophia and me on Park Avenue. We’ll get you dance lessons and acting lessons and we’ll round off your edges, and then we’ll see what Mr. Warner thinks about you.”

  “You mean Mr. Warner of Warner Brothers?” Letty gasped.

  Across the room the same people who had watched her sing onstage were teasing and flirting and pushing back and forth as though this were just any old night. The low, orangey light in the place flattered their features and softened their scowls, and Letty was gratified to see that it was a glorious night. Beyond them, by the door, she caught a glimpse of red, and realized that Cordelia was standing there. Her head was bent listening to the big man with the hat over his face. Afterward, she quickly said something in return. Though Letty watched her for several seconds, Cordelia never looked her way, and then she disappeared amongst the crowd.

  “So, Miss Larkspur, what do you say?”

  Letty’s small mouth spread wide, so that Valentine could see all her pearly teeth. If she hadn’t woken up yet, then it must not be a dream, and her own life really had become just like a Valentine O’Dell picture. She felt so flush with promise that she wondered if her small frame could possibly contain the joyful spirit within.

  “Yes, absolutely,” she said. “I can’t wait.”

  Chapter 24

  IT HAD BEEN SUCH A LONG NIGHT THAT BY THE TIME Cordelia returned to Dogwood she was almost wide awake again. For hours her heart had been gripped by fear for one best friend; but then the sight of her other best friend as she stunned a jaded Manhattan crowd with her singing opened it up again. Over those hours, she had sold hundreds of bottles of champagne at a criminal markup and paced so much that her feet had swollen and she’d had to remove her shoes for the long ride home. By then the news had reached her that Astrid was all right, but the worry and guilt Cordelia had experienced during the kidnapping did not immediately dissipate. A sense of calm, or something like it, returned to her only when she entered the Calla Lily Suite and saw Letty sleeping soundly in the big bed there, her hair like a blackbird laid against a white pillow.

  On tiptoes Cordelia had gone into the dressing room and washed her face and taken off her makeup. Not wanting to wake her friend, she lay down on the plush white couch by the window. Her mind was so busy that she feared she wouldn’t be able to sleep for a long time. But she must have fallen asleep quickly, because that was all she remembered before waking up, curled on the same couch. The windows were open and clean sunshine was streaming in, and Letty was not where she had been when Cordelia’s eyes had drifted shut.

  Cordelia was still wearing the red dress from the night before, and an orchid corsage was crumpled and wilted on her wrist.

  “Oh,” she moaned, and put her forehead in her hands for a moment. Then she took off the corsage and decided that it didn’t really matter who had sent it, or what it was supposed to mean. A tray of breakfast things had been left for her, and when she saw that, she found the will to cross the floor and pour herself a cup of coffee. Newspapers had been brought up with the pastries and juice, and she took the society page with her into the dressing room and read it idly as she repinned her hair.

  MANHATTAN’S NEWEST STARS was the headline, and the article went on breathily:

  Last night, at the spot everyone has been talking of for weeks, the city’s beautiful things came out decked in getups that ranged from elegant to whimsical and back again, to laugh and meet one another, to see and be seen, and in the end were treated to the great spectacle of a star being born. Miss Letty Larkspur, an orphan from the mean streets of the Bronx, rose to the stage, a nightingale of jazz, under the roof of an old bank, at the center of a room cheekily made up in homage to the all-mighty dollar . . .

  Cordelia closed the paper and regarded herself in the mirror. She looked another year older than she had yesterday at this time, but it had been a success, and she ought to be happy. Perhaps she was just tired. She took another sip of black coffee and then went downstairs.

  “Cord!” She heard Charlie call out before she had even made it to the second-floor landing. He came out of the billiard room and toward her, wearing a dove gray suit and an ivory collared shirt, with a wild light in his eyes and purple creases under his eyelids. The man she’d seen last night throwing glass against the wall and pushing aside customers was gone. Now he wore the happy expression of a boy who has just received his first bicycle for Christmas, which was especially winning in a man of his size. He came striding toward her with his arms wide open. “Cord, we did it. We did it.”

  “You think Dad would have been proud?” she asked as he folded her into an embrace.

  “Sure bet, Cord, that’s a sure bet.”

  “We made a lot of money last night, didn’t we?”

  “Yes, we made a lot of money.” Charlie stepped back and held Cordelia’s shoulders with his hands so that he could assess her. It was remarkable to her how his face, which last night had seemed so tough, could in the light of day appear so broa
d and full of childlike wonder. He held her gaze with his brown eyes, and said, “Would you do something for me?”

  “Anything.”

  “I know it’s going to sound funny, but I know you’ve been hanging around with that Billie Marsh, so maybe it won’t be strange after all. Would you be my best man—or, I don’t know, my best lady?”

  Cordelia took a breath. “Then everything is all right between you and Astrid?”

  “Everything is all right. I made a nice contribution to the little church on Main Street this morning, and we’re going to be married there this afternoon.”

  “This afternoon?” Though this seemed precipitous, she couldn’t help but beam back at Charlie the way he was beaming at her, reflecting his delight.

  He nodded.

  “Of course I’ll be your best man. And you don’t have to change the title for me, I don’t even know if I deserve to be called a lady anymore.”

  Charlie put a kiss on her forehead, punctuating it with a big smacking sound. “Good. Now will you take care of these?” He handed her a small black velvet ring box. “I’m so nervous I keep thinking I’ve lost them. I was going to wake you up, I was so worried I’d do something dumb. But now I’m glad I didn’t. At least now one of us will’ve got some sleep.”

  “Okay, Charlie.”

  “Go downstairs, would you? I think they’re waiting for you in the ballroom. I told her I’d send into the city for a dress, but she had her own ideas. Just go make sure it’s all fine, would you?”

  “All right.” Cordelia stood on her toes and kissed Charlie on the cheek. “But go take a cold shower or something, you’re making me nervy, too!”

  On the threshold of the ballroom she paused. Inside she could hear the excited, wispy breathing of girls at work. None of them were talking. She peeked around the door and saw Astrid standing on a wooden crate, her yellow hair brushed and shining around her heart-shaped face, her wishbone cheeks glowing as healthily as ever, her eyes closed as Milly stood in front of her, making careful stitches. Kneeling at her feet was Letty, who was carefully making adjustments at the hem. The bodice was sleeveless and made of some gold fabric, with an Egyptian pattern that ran along its U-neckline and up its thick straps. The skirt appeared to have been made out of a filmy white sheet, which had been wrapped around her from the back so that the two sides crossed over her front like two drapes, falling away so that when she walked a hint of knee would be revealed.

  “Cordelia,” Astrid said.

  Cordelia, surprised because she hadn’t realized that her friend’s eyes had opened again, came forward from the doorway with a smile on her face. “Good morning,” she said.

  Letty looked up from the floor and smiled, and Milly gave a brief, harried nod of acknowledgment.

  “Does your mother know?”

  “Oh, yes,” Astrid replied with obvious satisfaction. “I told her myself this morning and even now she’s scrambling for a getup worthy of the occasion. Of course, after my ordeal last night, she can’t say no to me. Dear Billie spent all night trying to locate her, to tell her that I’d been nabbed, but she couldn’t be found until after it was over and naturally she feels wretched. Or is pretending to, at any rate.”

  “You look so happy.”

  “I am so very happy. What a long night it was last night. Anyway, Charlie and I, we realized that life is short, it passes in the blink of an eye really, and you never know what’s going to happen, so we thought we had better stop playing games and start calling each other man and wife, just as we were always meant to.”

  “Congratulations.” Cordelia gave her friend a soft smile. “Can I help?”

  “Yes, you could make a bouquet for me and Letty. I hope it won’t make you sore, but I asked Letty to be my maid of honor, because Charlie was so adamant that you ought to be his best man. I know that sounds horrific really, but he’s so headstrong about everything this morning, and I really couldn’t convince him otherwise.”

  “No, I don’t mind, I think it’s perfect.” Cordelia went over to the white piano, where she began dividing the calla lilies and tying them with twine.

  “Do you like my dress? I thought of it myself,” Astrid went on, as though it calmed her to talk about something. “The bodice is from this old dress I found in Darius’s closet—must have been one of his old girls’—and I had Milly cut the skirt off, which was a horrible purple thing, and now this is just some sheet I found, but isn’t it going to be divine?”

  “It’s perfection.”

  “Yes, I thought so. The only hitch is I haven’t got a veil . . . and a sheet won’t do for that, I’d be tripping all over myself.”

  Letty’s blue eyes rolled up in Astrid’s direction and her hands ceased their activity. “I know what you could use—there must be some mosquito netting around, don’t you think? It’ll look just like a veil.”

  Then she turned her gaze on Cordelia, as though the full reason that this idea existed in her mind had not occurred to her until now. For a moment, both girls were thinking of a dusty day back in Union when Cordelia had worn mosquito netting, and of the hopeful face of the boy she’d left behind.

  “I’m sure there’s some in the attic.” The pain of this memory was so great that Cordelia had to look away. “I think I saw some there once. We’ll have one of the boys go look.”

  I’m sorry, Letty mouthed, although there was nothing for her to apologize for. Whatever unpleasant feelings were stirred by the mention of mosquito netting were Cordelia’s fault alone.

  Me too, Cordelia mouthed back. She wasn’t sure which of her many sins, small and large, she was apologizing for, but it felt good to say it, and Letty seemed to understand. They smiled at each other in a way that they hadn’t in a long time, and then both went back to work. After that, Cordelia didn’t think about the terrible thing she’d done to John Field in order to come to New York, and instead got caught up in what needed doing for the union they would be celebrating in a few hours.

  A dinner would have to be ordered, just something simple in the spirit of the day, cold cuts and meatball sandwiches and potato salad from the delicatessen on Shore Lane. They would set up a table on the lawn where Darius used to have his parties, and those guests who could make the ceremony would be invited over afterward to mingle on the lawn. At least one reporter would have to be notified—the Marshes might prefer everything hush-hush, but Astrid certainly did not. Cordelia knew that the first sentence would read, Bootlegger’s son, Charlie Grey, who on Saturday night made his first foray into the nightclub business, was wed Sunday afternoon to White Cove socialite Astrid Donal. She had a business to see to now and had to think of such things.

  By the time the redbrick church on Main began to chime in anticipation of the ceremony’s beginning, a reporter and a photographer were on hand, and they exuberantly documented the arrival of the bride, by limousine, at half past three. She stepped from the backseat of the Daimler and paused, giving them a radiant smile as though she had been expecting them.

  Once Astrid knew that they had their shot, she continued up the curved path to the church, where Cordelia and Letty were waiting for her on the steps, Cordelia in a simple long-sleeved black boatneck dress that must have been punishing in the sunshine; Letty in a lavender chiffon with little fluttering sleeves and mother-of-pearl buttons down the front, in which she looked slightly less like a waif than usual.

  “Are you ready?” Cordelia asked, fixing the mosquito netting that fell away from Astrid’s head before turning and going to stand beside Charlie. When she reached the front of the church, the organ music started up, and Astrid knew it was really happening. First Letty began to walk that slow, purposeful march, and then finally it was Astrid’s turn. She stepped into the modest little church and walked at her own buoyant pace up the aisle, not bothering to turn and look at any of her family or friends, who even at such short notice had packed the pews. Her eyes were fixed on Charlie, and his on her, and when she reached the altar, she handed her bouquet
off to Letty without hesitation and reached out to grip Charlie’s hands.

  His eyes glittered, and hers glittered back, and then the priest began to speak. She barely heard a word he said, so engrossed was she in Charlie’s face, his big grin, the sweet way his eyes were spaced far apart under that defiant brow. Once or twice she did let her gaze drift over the guests. There was Willa Herring, under a broad, flower-bedecked hat, trying to look happy instead of jealous that Astrid had upstaged her wedding by going small and sudden, instead of big and with much fanfare. There was Billie, her chin lifted in a dignified way, wearing red lipstick and a black brimmed hat rather reminiscent of those worn by horsewomen in Seville. She shook her head slightly, and Astrid knew that she really had given poor Billie a bad scare. Beside her was Virginia Donal de Gruyter Marsh, who was flashing smiles to anyone who might possibly glance her way and wearing a very brave face. Astrid knew, however, that she was steaming inside to see her only daughter wed not at all in the way she would have chosen, and with very little pomp. But this was among the day’s minor joys.

  Mostly there was just Charlie, looking down on her with a smile that neither flood nor famine would have been capable of wiping away. There was the priest’s voice, droning and calming, finally arriving at those magical words: “I now pronounce you man and wife.”

  Astrid, still grinning, stepped forward and threw her arms around Charlie’s neck, and he put his lips to hers and bent her back theatrically as the organ began to play again.

  Later, she was unable to recall much of what happened after Charlie kissed her, only fleeting images: the whole church standing up, her smart-set friends mixed in with Charlie’s boys, their faces more pockmarked and their suits flashier; her mother clinging to her elbow and saying, shrilly, how happy she was over and over; the photographer’s camera going off again when she came outside; the thumping of cans, which someone had tied to the back of Charlie’s roadster, as they drove back along Main Street toward Dogwood with the breeze in their faces. The only thing that felt real to her anymore was Charlie, and Charlie’s strong arms, which had carried her out of that dank and cruel warehouse, where she had known she would die, and safely home to Dogwood.