by Gwen Mayo
“Ma’am, you don’t have to—” But they were already walking away.
Once the women were out of earshot of the car, both burst into laughter.
“You haven’t lost your gift for bamboozle,” Cornelia said. “I hope he doesn’t get into too much trouble.”
“If he does, the money should assuage his pain,” Teddy replied. “He’ll probably make it back to the hotel in good time to perform his assigned duty. Politicians love long speeches.”
The Coliseum, a tall stucco building, rose like a pale castle above the palm trees. At its base, people swarmed round. The ladies joined the line for entry and were swept into a grand ballroom with a barrel-like ceiling. It reminded Cornelia of the inside of an aircraft hangar, if an aircraft hangar had been lit with chandeliers and had a stage for a live band.
“This is wonderful.” Teddy raised her voice to be heard above the music. “Just what I need.”
Cornelia could see why; merriment surrounded them. Couples danced on the ballroom floor in swirls of fringed dresses and dark suits. Headdresses bobbed. Knots of young men and women eyed one another from the sidelines. There must be no Hard-Shell Baptists in Florida.
“You go have fun,” she told Teddy. “I’ll find a seat.”
Her companion fluttered away in her peacock-colored dress, a fairy godmother among the flappers. Cornelia, wearing her black gown, felt more like the bad fairy who wasn’t invited to christenings. She headed towards the chairs near the wall, then spotted a concession stand. Knowing Teddy’s penchant for overdoing it, she purchased two drinks before choosing a chair.
Six minutes later, her companion, now puffing from exertion, plopped into the seat next to her. Cornelia handed her a cup.
“Thank you,” Teddy gasped, before taking a gulp. She sank back in the chair. “I can’t believe someone hasn’t laced the punch.”
“Perhaps they thought I was Mrs. Grundy and didn’t offer.”
“I did claim we were chaperones,” Teddy said, “so I probably jinxed us.”
In a short time, she was up and off to dance again. Cornelia got in line for more punch.
She was almost to the front when a shout of pain from the dance floor made her turn. It made many people turn.
Ansel Stevens teetered on one foot, clutching the other in his hand. He looked like a crane, if cranes wore pants with satin stripes. A red-haired girl with a too-short skirt steadied him.
Teddy stood nearby with one hand on her hip, and the other shaking a finger.
“You should be ashamed of yourself!” she cried. “A married man with grown children, and this is how you carry on?”
The redhead straightened. Her eyes narrowed in a way even the fashionable waves in her hair couldn’t soften. “Married?”
“Yes! I met his wife and family earlier tonight.”
“Ignore her, Shirley,” Ansel said. “She’s still mad about my breaking our engagement twenty years ago.”
The fairy godmother of the flappers kicked him in the shin of his good leg, and he howled.
“You didn’t break it, you liar!”
Cornelia noted that Teddy didn’t correct him about the number of years; she wasn’t going to do that with an audience. And she did have an audience. The musicians had halted, and the youngsters were enjoying the spectacle.
Time to stop this scene. She moved forward, muscling between the gawkers. “Teddy! Stop that before you get us thrown out.”
“Me, stop? It’s not my fault!”
Cornelia took her wrist and led her away from Ansel, who was cursing under his breath. Shirley was no longer by his side.
“Yes, take that harridan away!” he bellowed after them. “Miss Sour Grapes ...”
“Applesauce!” Teddy retorted, and Cornelia pulled harder on the wrist.
“You’re going to embarrass yourself if you keep on,” she said, getting her arm around her infuriated companion’s shoulders and herding her away.
“I just wanted to go out, so I could get away from him,” Teddy whined.
Cornelia wondered if Ansel was thinking the same thing.
They took a taxi back to the Vinoy. Teddy was slumped against her side of the vehicle, muttering insults.
Cornelia had never seen her like this before. Happy, sad, and yes, angry, but never muttering in a corner. “How much did you drink before we left?”
“Not enough.”
“I think I should ask Uncle to change hotels.”
“No!” She sat up. “No, don’t deny the poor dear his fun. I don’t think the rat will be dancing for a while. I got him right in the Achilles tendon.”
Calculating while infuriated. Well, that was closer to normal.
Chapter three
Cornelia awoke to brilliant light filling the room. She usually didn’t sleep in, even on vacation. She pulled the curtain aside and stared out at the water, lambent in the morning light, and the yachts neatly arranged in their slips, sails packed, their naked masts rising to greet the sun. She settled into one of the chairs near the window and read the last few chapters of her book while Teddy slept. Now and then, she gazed out at the seascape for a moment before turning the page.
They had breakfast in their siting room. Cornelia appreciated the small luxury; this was going to be a busy day. There would be a good deal of manual labor, carrying her uncle’s camera to and from locations. She wondered what he was going to do when she returned to Colorado. The novelty of creating motion pictures would wear off quickly if he had to tote his own camera gear around.
She was filling out the laundry form for her black dress, when Teddy told her that she shouldn’t bother.
“You’ve worn that dress so often during this trip, I think I should burn it.”
“Then I hope you like the one I’m wearing, because this, my uniform, and my travel suit are all I packed. You and Uncle didn’t leave me much room.”
Her companion plucked a bottle of Lily of the Valley perfume from her cosmetics case. “We need to get you some new clothes.”
“That’s an interesting thought. Unfortunately, it must remain a thought. There’s no room in the car for new clothes, and this trip is already straining my resources.”
“We’ll find a place to put them,” Teddy said, dabbing the fluid behind the ears. “I intend to visit the shops this afternoon. It will be the best thing to take my mind off last night. And I’ll pay for your new gown.”
Cornelia relented. “Very well. But you may be burning more than one dress when we leave Florida.”
The workmen at the pier stolidly bore the professor filming them from a distance, but grew hostile when he, trailed by Cornelia, trod upon the unfinished walkway.
The foreman was the one to confront them. “Step back, sir. You too, ma’am. It’s not safe.”
“I’ve been on many a construction site, young man,” the professor said, “and I assure you that I know how to be careful. As for my niece, she faced far more danger during the Great War and emerged with aplomb.”
Their adversary, who seemed puzzled by being addressed as ‘young man’, was not swayed by Uncle Percival’s words. “I don’t care who she merged with. This is off limits to tourists.”
Cornelia stood by as her uncle took the man aside. “I’m not only a tourist, I’m a retired engineer. I realize that I’m imposing upon you, and perhaps I could compensate you for your time and trouble.”
They negotiated briefly, and the foreman agreed to a short tour. “But walk where I tell you to, and don’t wander. That goes double for the lady. Women don’t belong at a construction site. My men’s language gets salty.”
He led them across the boards and away from the shore. Steam cranes from nearby boats quickly surrounded them. Trucks rolled past, carrying equipment and supplies. The wind of their passing pelted her with flying sand and tugged at the brim of her hat, making Cornelia grateful that she’d tied it securely under her chin instead of relying on a hatpin to hold it in place.
“Stand here,”
their new guide said. “This should give you a good view of the pier construction without getting into the crew’s hair. We got a timetable, and I won’t fall behind so you can take pictures.”
“I understand, completely,” Uncle Percival said. “I wouldn’t dream of disrupting your schedule.”
Cornelia’s self-control was taxed as she tried to keep from laughing at the idea of Percival Pettijohn causing a delay. Her uncle’s obsession with punctuality was legendary. She could still remember the shame he heaped upon himself the day his steam buggy stalled on the railroad tracks in downtown Lexington, putting half a dozen trains behind schedule. In his mind, being late was a mortal sin. She pushed the thought from her mind and focused on the task at hand.
As her uncle and the foreman talked about specifics of the project, Cornelia set up the tripod and recorded the men’s labor.
While she cranked the handle for the camera, Cornelia considered the short time she had left before her leave ended. Like it or not, she would soon be headed back to the Army hospital in Colorado. Should Teddy go with her, or should she return to Kentucky with Uncle Percival? He was over the pneumonia he’d caught late last year, but Cornelia still worried. She would have appreciated Teddy watching over her uncle, but Teddy hadn't been herself since running into her former fiancé, the lout. Men who hit women were no better than vermin.
Perhaps shopping would help her forget Ansel for a while. And with any luck, they would find a new place to move to before any more clashes took place. Her uncle was too thrifty to stay in the Vinoy for long, good view notwithstanding. That is, if you called this clamor of construction a good view.
A steam whistle blew on the largest floating crane, and several workmen stopped what they were doing to rush to the edge of the pier. Seconds later, thick chains rattled, and a cloud of rust showered down on them as an enormous steel beam rose from the shore and crept over the bay. Inch by inch, the heavy beam was moved into position atop concrete and steel foundation.
With one last scrape of metal on stone, the waiting workmen leapt into action.
Cornelia cranked away with the camera as a man in leather overalls used long-handled metal tongs to pull a red-hot rivet from a large steaming bucket and slide it into a pre-drilled hole. The bucket boy moved down the row of workmen. One man would place the hot bolt and his waiting partner would hammer the base of the rivet into a second head before it could cool enough to lose its red-orange glow. Their hammers beat out a deafening rhythm as bits of metal sheared off the rivets and burned through whatever it touched. There was indeed salty language when bits seared men’s flesh.
Her uncle blushed on her behalf. He came over to ask if she would like to return to the hotel.
It was a nice gesture. She could see how much he was enjoying the being in the middle of the construction. He hadn’t even removed his hearing device from his ear. To him, the racket of a dozen hammers pounding in unison was a symphony. She wouldn’t take him away from the pier for anything. “I’ve heard much worse,” she assured him.
Arthur dropped in at the Stevens’ office downtown to pick his fiancée up for lunch. It meant time away from his own business, but a man should be permitted a few indulgences when he was newly engaged—especially to someone who hadn’t given him the time of day the winter before. There were plenty of other girls who were more than happy to have his company. He wanted more than that. The moment he met Evelyn he’d realized that she was exactly what he was looking for: smart, sophisticated, ambitious, and beautiful. She was solid, the kind of woman who would be an asset in the social circles he was entering. While all of that was true, it wasn’t the real reason he had persevered in his suit. He was head over heels for her from the first day she and her father had walked into his garden shop.
Unfortunately, Evelyn was busy helping the old man in the office. They seemed to be holding down the fort alone. Mac was not there, which was predictable. His head was always in the clouds. The secretary was busy collecting estimates from vendors. He looked around for Evelyn’s sister, but she was nowhere to be seen.
When his fiancée popped out of the office, arms full of files, he inquired, “Where’s Violet?”
“Downstairs getting her curls refreshed,” his beloved said, plopping the folders down on her desk.
“So, you don’t get time to eat?”
Evelyn checked the clock. “She should have returned by now. Why don’t you be a dear and hurry her along? And get a wiggle on; I think I deserve a longer lunch today.”
Sufficiently motivated, Arthur hied himself to the Movie Star Gallery, which was one of several shops on the first floor of the Stevens Building. The place was buzzing with young women; it took him a few moments to locate Violet.
“May I help you, sir?” the woman at the counter inquired.
“I need to speak to the girl back there.” He pointed. “Her sister sent me.”
He was granted entry to the feminine domain. He took a tentative step forward. Until today, he had assumed beauty shops were little more than barber shops with prettier decorations. Odd chemical odors assaulted his nose and eyes as we walked deeper into the room. He wanted to appear nonchalant, but Arthur couldn’t help gawking at the strange devices women used in the effort to be beautiful. The eyes of other clients swept over him as he passed, making him feel like an intruder.
“He lives on his yacht,” Violet was telling the stylist, who was busy teasing out a multitude of curls on her head. “He can sail from job to job without leaving home.”
“How romantic!” the stylist replied. Arthur thought the woman was anything but a romantic: her hair was as short as a man’s. Kohl-rimmed eyes and diamante earrings were her only nods to femininity. She looked familiar, though; where had he seen her before?
Violet noticed him staring. “Arthur! What are you doing here?”
He returned to the present. “Evelyn sent me. She’d like to have lunch before dinnertime.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry. It took longer to get done than I expected it to. This is Lucy. Are we close to done, Lucy?”
“We’ll be through in a minute,” the stylist said, looking up at him. Recognition lit her eyes, and she stood. “Arthur Downs!” she exclaimed. “How have you been?”
She smiled, and he saw the small gap between her front teeth. It triggered his memory; he’d gone to school with her. She’d had a fuzzy cloud of brown curls then; now it was short, wispy, and peroxide blonde.
“I’ve been fine,” he said. “How are you doing?”
She gestured around her. “I am mistress of all I survey.”
“This is your salon?” It was a long way from their rural childhood.
Lucy laughed, a deep bubbling sound. “It’s mine. Are you still working for your father?”
“He passed away a few years ago. I’m running the business now.”
His former classmate began to offer her condolences, but was interrupted by Violet, who sat up from the styling chair and poked Arthur. “Look!” she whispered to him. “There she is again!”
The woman who had slapped old Stevens was standing at the door, scanning the room with either intensity or nearsightedness. She leaned on her cane, ignoring the woman at the counter trying to invite her forward.
“Who is it?” the salon owner asked. “Pretty stylish for someone her age.”
“She slapped my father last night,” Violet said. “At the Vinoy. Mother said that she was engaged to Father once, and he dumped her.”
Lucy chuckled. “Spitfire turned silver, huh?”
“She’s leaving,” Arthur said. “She must have spotted us.”
“Better than casting a kitten here,” Lucy said. “All right, doll. You’re finished.”
Chapter four
When Cornelia and Uncle Percival returned to the Vinoy, they found a surprise in their suite. The young redhead who had been Ansel’s companion the previous night sat in one of the chairs, leafing through a magazine.
A different Teddy greeted them. �
��I hope you had fun,” she said, fingering her newly shorn curls. A few wisps surrounded her face, but the hair in the back had been cut very, very short. “What do you think? They call it a shingle bob.”
“The barbering trade has changed since my days,” the professor said. “They didn’t name haircuts; just asked what size bowl they should use.”
They all laughed before Teddy continued.
“I didn’t have to use the barber shop. I went directly to the salon and ran into Shirley. Shirley Wheeler, this is Cornelia Pettijohn, and this is her uncle, Percival.”
Shirley put aside the magazine and got up. Her too-red lips opened into a beautiful smile. “Right pleased to meet you.”
The professor took her hand with a flourish and bent over it. “Charmed to meet you as well. Do I detect the lilt of Tennessee in your voice?”
The young woman giggled. “You do.”
Seen in the light of day, Cornelia placed her age in the early twenties. That was perhaps a third of Ansel’s years. What a goat he’d turned out to be. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. So, Teddy, you met again in the salon?”
“Yes. I asked the concierge where I could get the best finger curls, and there she was. We discussed mutual dislikes, then found out we had some interests in common.”
“I see that,” Cornelia said, eyeing the two glasses on the nearby table with an empty Ball jar between them.
“I try to be a gracious hostess,” Teddy replied. “Besides, she’s given me some excellent advice on where to shop. I invited her to join us.”
Cornelia had forgotten the planned shopping trip. She’d spent the morning tromping around the construction site loaded down with her uncle’s camera equipment. It took all her willpower to smile at the prospect of an afternoon of carrying Teddy’s purchases.
The shopping began on Central Avenue, not far from the hotel, and continued onto First Street. Cornelia hadn’t seen so many clothing stores since the time she’d been stationed in San Francisco. Above them, a plane hummed through the sky, trailing smoke that eventually, between their entries and exits of shops, succeeded in spelling out “Lucky Strike”. It reminded her of Mac, whom they’d seen striding towards the hotel as they pulled out of the entrance. Poor lad, he was caught in the middle between Teddy and his father.