Lies in White Dresses

by Sofia Grant

  She was also collecting information for another of her projects, which was to become poised and beautiful, like Ava Gardner in Pandora and the Flying Dutchman. (She wasn’t allowed to see the film, but she’d snuck into the Majestic with her friend Pearl, whose father was their dairyman.) The guests were very useful on this front:

  Use safety pin to seperate eye lashes after putting on mascarra

  OVAL is best face shape!!!

  Don’t chew gum it is COMMON

  Cream on neck EVERY night NOT JUST FACE

  Virgie followed the source of the voice down the hall. No light spilled from the door, suggesting that the occupant hadn’t opened the drapes yet, despite the fact that it was nearly lunchtime. On hot afternoons, guests often left their doors open in hopes of getting a bit of a cross breeze. On rainy or snowy days, it wasn’t uncommon to see them wandering between their rooms in their wrappers and slippers, as if they were attending a giant pajama party.

  A face peeped out. The girl from Las Vegas had a pretty smile and lively eyes, but Mother had observed that it was her bombshell figure that had gotten her to the altar the first time and, if she played her cards right, might get her there again. (Virgie had written bombshell figure in her notebook, along with a question mark, as she wasn’t entirely sure what one was.)

  “Remember me, honey?” the girl said. “I’m called Willy. Listen, can you run down to the store for me?” She held out a quarter between her fingertips, as if she were holding a cigarette. Virgie often practiced holding cigarettes—the candy ones, anyway—and blowing pretend rings of smoke.

  “What do you need from the store, Miss Willy?” Virgie asked politely.

  “Get me the new issue of Life. Make sure it’s the new one, with Diana Lynn on the cover. And a packet of matches.” She coughed delicately. An odor issued from the room, a not very pleasant odor with notes of perfume and hairspray masking something sour and stale. The robe Willy was wearing could stand a washing too. The hotel did a brisk business with the ladies’ laundry. Pearl’s father sent a boy to pick up their dirty things each morning and then a different one brought back the clean, folded bundles right before suppertime—and Mother charged the guests a bit extra for her trouble.

  “Yes, Miss.”

  “And you can keep the change for yourself, how’s that?”

  “Thank you!” Virgie beamed. “I’ll go right now.”

  Life cost twenty cents and matches were free, and that left a nickel that she could put in the baking-powder tin. Other than Nancy Drew mysteries—Virgie already had twenty-two of them, lined up neatly on her bookshelf—she had few expenses, and there was already sixteen dollars and forty-two cents in the bank. She needed forty-nine dollars by next summer to attend the Hector Y. Brown Private Detective Academy, which, after two weeks of intensive study, would confer on her an official certificate allowing her to work as a private eye anywhere in the state of Nevada.

  “Your mother won’t mind?” Willy asked. Up close, Virgie could see that her cheeks were smeared with last night’s rouge, and her eyeliner had smudged, making her look a bit like a raccoon. “I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

  “My mother doesn’t care.” That wasn’t true, but her mother was too busy to know where Virgie was all day long, especially now that school was out for the summer.

  “You sure are a sassy little thing, aren’t you?” Willy said, yawning. She covered her mouth with her fingers, and Virgie stared at her shiny red fingernails, filed to points.

  “I don’t know, Miss.” Virgie smiled—Mother said to always smile when talking to the guests, even if they were complaining about something—and dropped the quarter into the pocket with the notepad. “Are you going to throw your wedding ring into the river?”

  “I don’t know about that. It cost a lot of money.”

  “It doesn’t have to be your real one,” Virgie offered. “Woolworths sells cheap ones. Lots of ladies keep the real ones and throw the fake ones in the river. I can get one for you, if you like.”

  “Aren’t you enterprising?” Willy laughed. “How old are you, anyway?”

  “Twelve.” Virgie stood up straight, counting on every one of her fifty-nine inches to make up for what she lacked in age.

  “Well, Virgie, how much would such a ring cost me?”

  “Eighty cents.”

  “But that’s not what it costs at Woolworths, is it?”

  For a moment, Virgie considered lying, but her woman’s intuition—Nancy Drew said that every girl had one—told her not to.

  “No, Miss,” she admitted. “They’re sixty-five cents. But the extra fifteen cents is—”

  “Relax, honey,” Willy interrupted. “Of course you’ve got to have a markup. Frankly, I think it should be more. Tell you what, come and see me—not this afternoon, I’m feeling a bit unwell—but come up later this week and we’ll work on your pitch. Okay?”

  Virgie wasn’t sure what a pitch was, but she was intrigued by the thought of gaining entrance into a den of indolence, which was what her mother called the rooms occupied by the richest, laziest girls. “Okay. I’ll be back soon with your magazine.”

  “Just slide it under the door, honey. I’m going to lie down.” Willy yawned again. “I had no idea how exhausting it is to get a divorce.”

  Chapter 3

  Francie

  Francie studied their new friend while pretending to read the menu. She already knew what she was going to order, having remembered the menu from her last trip on the City of San Francisco, when she’d gone to see her elderly aunt in Sacramento shortly before her death last year. That time, she’d ordered the cottage cheese and pineapple plate, in a vain attempt to watch her waistline—but ever since Francie had decided to divorce, she’d given up dieting and still the weight seemed to be coming off of its own accord. Most likely, it was because with Arthur out of the house she’d been skipping meals, but she couldn’t help wondering if there were other forces at work.

  It had taken her much too long to come to the conclusion that heading into her golden years as a divorcée was preferable to a life that felt like a vigil before her own death. Now, having freed both herself and Arthur from the shackles of their marriage, life presented a shocking number of decisions. Arthur was lucky, in a way—he knew exactly what he wanted and was well on his way to having it. Francie, on the other hand, had no idea.

  Except: “I’m going to order the veal chop in paprika cream sauce,” she announced, and then, catching June’s eye, added, “and I think you should do the same, dear. You look like you could use the iron.”

  “Oh,” June said, startled. “I thought perhaps the ham and cheese sandwich.”

  The sandwich was the least expensive item on the menu; the chop was the most, at $2.25. Francie summoned the waiter with a nod, and before he could speak, she said, “I think we’re ready to order, young man. I shall have the veal chop and so will my friend. A nice piece of fried chicken for the child, I think, and some peaches. Do you like peaches, darling?”

  Patty looked to her mother, who had recovered herself enough to say, “She likes them very much, don’t you?”

  “And you, madam?” the waiter asked Vi.

  She set down her menu. “I’m not all that hungry, actually. I suppose the broiled sole. And iced tea.”

  “Yes, tea for all of us, except the young lady. If it’s all right with her mother, please bring her a Shirley Temple. With extra cherries, please. And do bring a dish for the stems.”

  As the waiter hurried away, Vi remarked, “Wasn’t it Alice who loved the cherries?”

  “It was! Alice is my youngest,” Francie explained to June. “Patty, I’m sure you can hardly believe it, as I am a grandmother now, but I was once a young mother just like your own. Though never as pretty.”

  June blushed furiously, gazing down at the tablecloth.

  “Oh, but you are,” Vi said, perking up a bit. “The two of you! Those beautiful curls. Do you have to put in papers every night?” />
  “No, they’re—they just do this on their own. Patty’s are very hard to comb sometimes. They tangle so.” She touched Patty’s head lightly. “How many children do you have, Francie?”

  “Three, dear. Margie’s my eldest—she and her husband have three little girls, age four, two, and Dorrie’s ten months. Then there’s Jimmy, who was married last year to a lovely girl named Evelyn. And my Alice is twenty-five.” Then, to save Vi the trouble, she did her list too. “Vi’s got Charlie and Frank. All our boys were in the service—Jimmy went in the air force and Vi’s boys joined the marines. Frank’s twenty-eight and Charlie’s twenty-seven, and they’re both still single, just to give their mother fits. They’re both bright as pennies and they work with their father.”

  “Oh?” June said politely. “What does your husband do, Vi?”

  The waiter had brought rolls and a dish of butter, which Patty was eyeing hungrily. Francie took a roll and broke it into pieces and buttered them, just as she used to do for her own children.

  “He’s a . . .” Vi cleared her throat, her face a little pink. “He owns an event management and promotion company, but mostly he’s a J-A-C-K-A-S-S.”

  Francie burst into laughter. “He certainly is! Good for you, dear.” She set the buttered roll on Patty’s bread plate. “Do start, sweetheart, you’re famished. June, you are having a wonderful effect on Vi here—I’ve been trying to get her to admit that for ages.”

  “I’m sorry,” Vi said, with a hint of a smile. “I really am. It’s just— Well. You see, Francie and I are both taking the Reno cure. And my husband has insisted on this divorce despite the fact that his own comportment has hardly been that of a gentleman.”

  “One cannot say more in polite company,” Francie said, eyeing the little girl, who was already nearly finished with the roll. “But let’s just say that Mr. Carothers’s attention often strayed.”

  “I’m terribly sorry,” June said. After a moment she added, “Though I do understand.”

  “You’ve experienced something similar,” Francie said. It wasn’t a question; a girl like June didn’t end up on a journey like this unless she’d been forced to. Though Francie had never known want, she could imagine that the security of a marriage was a powerful glue when a girl had no means to support her child.

  June blinked several times and gave a faltering smile but said no more. Poor thing, traveling alone, with no friend or sister or mother to console her—who did she have to confide in?

  “Where will you be staying in Reno, June?” Vi asked gently.

  “We have a room at the Twilight Inn,” June said. “We’re expected for a week, and after that I’m not sure. I’ll be looking for work, you see.”

  “Pardon me, ladies.”

  The three turned to see a white-haired man in a perfectly tailored suit, dining alone with a newspaper folded next to his plate. “I’m terribly sorry, but I’m guilty of eavesdropping. Please forgive me, but it isn’t every day that I can enjoy the conversation of such lovely ladies as yourselves.”

  Francie allowed herself a very small snort; she’d never been fond of men who indulged in hyperbole.

  “This is very forward of me,” he continued, “but I feel it is my duty to most strenuously encourage you to consider other lodging, Miss. The Twilight is a rough place, and the men who lodge there are rougher still. It’s no place for a child or her mother.”

  “I see,” Francie said, revising her opinion of the man. “You are familiar with the area?”

  “You might say that,” he said. He took a card from his pocket and handed it to her. “Lawrence Wheeler, at your service. I grew up in Reno, lived there seventy years next December. Practiced law most of ’em, right downtown. I’m happy to recommend more suitable lodging, if you wish.”

  “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary,” Vi said. “Mrs. Samples can stay with me. I have a suite, you see—I’ve no idea what I would have done with the extra room.”

  “Oh—but I couldn’t—”

  “Thank you,” Francie interrupted. “As you can see, Mr. Wheeler, we have matters well in hand. Good day.”

  He nodded and returned to his newspaper.

  “Truly, Vi, we can’t impose on you,” June said. “You’ve been so kind already, and you must be—that is, it isn’t easy—not that I know—”

  “You’ll be doing me a favor,” Vi said calmly. “Harry—my husband—booked a suite because he’s trying to assuage his own guilt. I told him it was an unnecessary expense, but now I see that it was meant to be. You’ll have your own room, and we can have a cot sent in for Patty, and you can take meals with us. Really, it will be much more pleasant for everyone.”

  “Seeing as she has nothing to say to me anymore, I agree,” Francie teased. Secretly, she was delighted. Maybe the young woman’s company would be just the thing to cheer Vi up. And Patty! It was no secret that Vi longed for grandchildren of her own, but since Charlie had broken up with his girl months ago, and Frank showed every sign of remaining a bachelor forever, Vi had been forced to settle for being an honorary auntie to Francie’s grandchildren. “And I shall take us all out for dinner at the Mapes Sky Room tonight as a celebration of our first night in Reno. Please, say you will, so we can eat our lunch.”

  A battle of emotions played across June’s face. The waiter approached with a cart laden with dishes covered with gleaming silver lids. The cloth in front of Patty was littered with crumbs, her chin shiny with butter.

  “Well, all right,” June finally said. “But only to be polite.”

  Francie grinned and gave Vi a wink. Their new friend, it seemed, had an impish side.

  It would come in handy, if the rumors were to be believed. According to Harry, who was currently promoting nuclear tourism in the desert near Las Vegas, there were all sorts of entertainments on offer for the soon-to-be-single ladies of Reno.

  Harry was a fool if he thought that the prospect of gambling or horseback riding or nightclubs would appeal to his wife. Francie, on the other hand, thought she might have to see what was on offer. After all, why bother shaking up her entire life if she was just going to stay in and mope?

  Chapter 4

  As the City of San Francisco rolled into Reno, her whistle announcing their arrival, Vi pressed her nose to the window at the breathtaking view. Mountains rose up in the distance to the east and south, the highest peaks topped with snow despite the warmth of late spring.

  They were back in their sleeping compartment, having arranged to meet June and Patty on the platform after June retrieved their bags.

  “It’s beautiful,” Francie said. “You must be so happy to see the mountains again.”

  “Oh yes.” Vi sighed. “I haven’t made a snowball in—well, as long as I can remember. Mother used to let me play outside for hours after big snowstorms, until I couldn’t feel my fingers and toes.”

  Francie shuddered. “That sounds horrid.”

  “It was wonderful! Mother made hot cocoa and toasted cheese sandwiches when I finally came in.” She turned away from the window, her eyes animated and shining. “And Papa would pull me on the sled all the way up the hill, over and over so I could come zipping down. I don’t know how many times I fell off and ended up facedown in a drift!”

  “Vi, are you sure you don’t want to try to visit family while you’re here?” Francie asked. “I’m sure they’d be thrilled to see you again.”

  The light left Vi’s eyes and Francie could have kicked herself. “I’d be too ashamed,” she said. “I haven’t spoken to any of my cousins in years—I don’t even know if any of them are still in the area. And none of my aunts and uncles are even alive anymore.”

  That damn Harry. It was his fault that Vi’d lost touch with her family, in Francie’s opinion—there were only so many times Vi could stand to hear him dismiss her relatives as uneducated country folk before she gave up and quit suggesting they visit.

  A sharp rap at the door was accompanied by the porter’s announcement that the
train would be pulling into the station and that their bags would be brought to them on the platform.

  “Well—are we ready?” Francie said.

  “I suppose so. Though I have half a mind to stay on and ride this train right back to San Francisco.”

  “Whatever for? You’ve been wanting to come back as long as I’ve known you.”

  “Yes, but not for this. I wish it could be the way it used to be, back when I was just a girl. But everything is different now. Nothing stays the same.”

  “No,” Francie said sadly. “No, I don’t suppose it does.”

  “I wish—” Vi caught herself and shook her head.

  “What, dear? Tell me.”

  “I just wish that I’d made time to come back when . . . during happier times. When the boys were younger, and I could have shown them around. Maybe made a vacation of it—we could have brought the kids and taken them horseback riding.”

  Francie made a face. “Arthur would never have gotten on a horse—he thinks they’re filthy beasts.”

  “Just the two of us, then, and the kids. They’re all grown up now—you’ve got grandchildren.”

  “Well, then, we’ll simply have to bring all of them. Soon you’ll have grandchildren of your own, you’ll see.” Francie was doing her best to cheer Vi up. “Oh, look—there’s June.”

  They filed onto the platform with the other passengers to wait for their bags, enjoying the sun on their faces and the smell of creosote that always reminded Francie of childhood visits to her relatives, most of whom had been gone for years. A few blocks away, the gaudy neon signs she’d seen on television rose up over the casinos: the Apache Casino had an Indian head on top, complete with blinking feather headdress, and across the street the Pioneer Club cowboy tipped his neon hat. Towering over the rest was the bucking mule atop the Prospector, the brand-new casino that was rumored to have cost more than eight million dollars to build.