Lies in White Dresses

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Lies in White Dresses Page 5

by Sofia Grant


  “Madam?” the operator said, his hand on the button.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I need to go back. I don’t belong, I can’t—” Her face was contorted with fear.

  Francie took her arm and led her out, nodding at the operator. “Come here, dear, let’s talk over here where we can have some privacy, all right?”

  “But—”

  “Just for a minute,” Vi chimed in.

  Francie held up a finger at the maître d’. “One moment, please.”

  They guided June to a little nook around the corner from the coat check. “What’s wrong, darling?”

  June clutched her purse handle for dear life. “I’ve never been anywhere like this before. I don’t know what to do. How to act.”

  Vi took her hand. “It’s really not so different from a diner. They just dirty a lot more dishes and give you less food. Just follow my lead and do what I do, all right?”

  “But, Patty—”

  “Patty’s playing as nice as you please right now,” Francie said firmly. “I’m sure she only cried for a few minutes. My kids were the same way, crying for show and then forgetting all about me once I was out the door. Virginia seems smart as a whip, and did you see the kit she brought with her? You’ll see, Patty will have the time of her life.”

  “But what if she’s scared?”

  “This is good for her. I promise.” Francie had barely let Alice out of her sight until she started school, too worried about the cruel things people might say, the way they stared. As a result, poor Alice had been painfully shy, and it had taken years for her to come out of her shell. If Francie had it to do over, she would have done as she had with her other children and let Alice learn to take her knocks and pick herself back up again.

  She led the way back to the maître d’ and announced, “We are ready to be seated now, please. The name is Meeker.”

  “Yes, madam. This way.”

  He led them to a table near the window, where Francie stood aside so June could have the seat next to the window. A glowing rim of orange was all that remained of the sun as it sank behind the mountains.

  June watched Francie and Vi and followed their lead, laying her napkin in her lap and picking up her menu and sipping from her water only after they did so first. She listened attentively as the waiter described the specials, but when he left, she visibly relaxed.

  “I’ve never heard anyone go on so about dinner,” she said. “I’m not even sure what most of those dishes were.”

  “Well, I think the rabbit sounds delicious,” Vi said. “And the asparagus should be very fresh this time of year.”

  “Just pick something that sounds good,” Francie said. “And we’ll ask the sommelier to help choose the wine.”

  “Remember, all the people who work here—their job is to make sure you have a nice time,” Vi added.

  Once they had ordered, and Francie selected a bottle of Bordeaux, June seemed to start enjoying herself. She delighted over the basket of rolls, the little silver tongs the waiter used to set one on her plate. She exclaimed over the little pats of butter molded into fleur-de-lis, the pool of creamy sauce under the asparagus. When the waiter wielded a giant pepper grinder over her chicken divan, her eyes went wide.

  “Oh,” she said, after taking a bite of the chicken. She closed her eyes and chewed rapturously. “I’ve never tasted anything so delicious!”

  “Life is full of surprises,” Vi said. “Who knows what you’ll try next? I wish I’d been more adventurous when I was young.”

  “What on earth do you mean?” Francie asked, picking at her New York strip. It was quite good, but she didn’t have much of an appetite tonight. There was simply too much to think about. “You married Harry three months after meeting him and moved to the big city—that seems pretty adventurous considering you’d barely been out of Reno.”

  “I was only doing what was expected.” Vi shrugged. “My parents worked their fingers to the bone so that I could go to college. They wanted to see me move up in the world. Harry had a good job and a nice car and you know how he talks—my parents thought he was the second coming.”

  “The things we do just because we’re expected,” Francie said. “It’s a shame—by the time you figure out what you really want out of life, you’re someone’s wife and mother and you don’t even have time to read a book or see a movie.”

  “It’s true,” Vi said. “Once I was married we always did what Harry wanted—he didn’t like it when I made a fuss. He insisted that we go to the Thunderbird Lodge every summer, even after the boys had gotten bored with it. He wouldn’t let me ride the horses or take photography classes. And you know how he was about restaurants—when it was just the two of us, we hardly went anywhere but the Tadich Grill, and he always ordered the same thing.”

  Vi had never talked like this—she’d almost never complained about Harry until now. “Are you saying you wish you hadn’t married him?”

  “Not at all—if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have my boys!”

  “And I wouldn’t have Patty,” June agreed. “I can’t imagine life without her.”

  “If only there was a way to have our children without men being involved. Divine birth worked for the Virgin Mary, didn’t it?”

  “Francie!” Vi chided. June looked as if she were about to choke.

  “Oh, I’m just teasing. Pay no attention to me.”

  “I still believe in marriage,” Vi said thoughtfully. “It’s weddings I’m not so sure about.”

  “What do you mean?” June asked.

  “Well, just think about it. Little girls are told they’ll marry handsome princes. They start dreaming of weddings before they can even read the announcements in the papers. I had paper dolls with an entire trousseau, right down to the monogrammed tea towels.”

  “My mom let me play with her veil,” June said. “She kept it in a hatbox, but her dress was packed up in the attic for when I got married.”

  “Did you wear it?”

  “I did,” June said sadly. “I was keeping it for Patty, but . . .”

  Francie patted her hand, wondering what else the poor thing had been forced to leave behind.

  “But that’s just it,” Vi said. “We’re taught to dream about the dress, the flowers, the ring—and none of it matters in the end. It’s—it’s just a bunch of lies. A fancy wedding gown can’t make your husband treat you well. It doesn’t matter how beautiful and happy you look on your wedding day, you won’t even remember it when life gets hard. And it does, doesn’t it? Everyone’s life gets hard eventually.”

  Francie looked at her friend in alarm. They’d only just arrived in Reno; they’d have plenty of time to be morose later. Tonight was supposed to be for celebrating—especially since poor June had been through so much already.

  “Well, now’s your chance!” she said, forcing herself to sound cheerful. “You can do whatever you like now, Vi. Make your life whatever you want it to be. Move into a new house—as long as it’s still close to me, of course—or take up new hobbies, join clubs, take up a cause, anything at all!”

  “But, Francie, I don’t want to do any of that. I’m perfectly content with my life just as it is. All I meant was that I should have been braver when I was young.” After a moment, Vi gave a funny little smile and added, “Nowadays, I think I’m just brave enough.”

  It was an odd thing to say, but Francie let it pass; Vi probably just meant her decision to go ahead with the divorce. “Well, I want to try some new things.”

  “Like what?” June asked.

  “Chinese food,” Francie said immediately. “It sounds so interesting. Even the names sound so exotic—chop suey and the like.”

  “We’ll ask Mrs. Swanson for a recommendation, then,” Vi said. “I’m sure she knows a good Chinese restaurant. What else?”

  “Don’t laugh—but I want to learn to ride a bicycle. I never did, as a child. My mother thought it wasn’t ladylike.” She had a sudden inspiration. “And I want to learn to
ski! We could come back here next winter—you could teach me!”

  “I can’t even imagine skiing,” June said. “I’ve only seen snow once—one winter it got so cold in Roseville we got some flurries, but it melted when it hit the ground. I mean, until yesterday, when I saw the snow on the mountains. But it’s different when it’s so far away.”

  “Then you can go with Francie,” Vi said. “What else?”

  “Let’s see.” Francie and Arthur had had some wonderful adventures together. They’d been to Europe and Mexico and made many trips to New York. They’d taken a tour of Yellowstone National Park and gone to Chicago to see an exhibit of fifteenth-century German book illustrations after he had inherited the family printing business. They’d ridden in a hot-air balloon and taken a raft down the American River and gone to the movies in every theater in the city.

  But as content as they’d been as companions, there was still a loneliness inside Francie that ached more every year. She didn’t want another husband. Even a courtship seemed unlikely and not all that appealing. In truth she thought it might actually be a relief to live alone, to have her single status finally acknowledged so she could stop pretending her marriage was fine.

  But she was afraid it wouldn’t be enough. As the years with Arthur went by, she had tried to bury the part of her that wasn’t needed or wanted. When it wouldn’t be ignored, she’d tried to drown it by keeping busy. She’d been cheerful—oh, how cheerful she had tried to be—and supportive; she’d managed the household with efficiency and good humor. She’d joined charitable organizations and helped in the children’s schools and given dinner parties for Arthur’s clients; and she’d managed their finances too, meeting with the trustees of her fortune and keeping track of her investments. At the end of each day she took off her tasteful dresses and suits and put on an equally tasteful nightgown, applied a good night cream and flossed and brushed her teeth, and went to bed knowing that she’d done all she could.

  But, oh, how that emptiness ached.

  She suddenly became aware of the others waiting expectantly.

  “I’d like to dye my hair red,” she announced.

  Vi looked surprised. “You always said it wasn’t worth the bother to cover the gray.”

  “But I don’t want to just cover it,” Francie said. “I don’t want my dull old brown anymore.”

  “Do you mean true red, or just strawberry blond?”

  “Bright, flaming red! What’s wrong with that? If I don’t like it, it will grow out. And also, I want to redecorate the living room. Now that Arthur is gone, and the children are grown, I think it might be time for a change.”

  “What sort of change?”

  Francie turned to June. “Vi doesn’t like change,” she confided. “She came with me when I chose the furniture for that room twenty years ago. Remember?”

  “You wanted the green drapes,” Vi said. “And Arthur said they’d make the room feel like a jungle.”

  “He did. I think I’ll make an appointment when we get home. You’ll come, won’t you?”

  “Mmm.”

  But that was still six weeks away. “What about you, June? What sorts of things will you do differently now?”

  June set down her fork. She’d practically cleaned her plate, though her wine remained untouched.

  “A job,” she said. “I have to get a job. I’ve never had money of my own, not since our neighbor used to pay me to sit with her father-in-law and make sure he didn’t go wandering the neighborhood.”

  “Vi and I will help you find one, then. I’m sure you’re clever at all sorts of things. What sort of work are you interested in?”

  “I was in secretarial school when I met my husband. I got good marks. And I was one of the fastest typists in the class.” She blushed. “I loved filing. I like to organize things, to take a mess and put it in order. It could be anything—an overgrown garden, a toolshed, a box of photographs.”

  “Maybe you could finish school while you’re here,” Vi said. “We could loan you the tuition and you could pay us back when you start working.”

  “And we could help with Patty,” Francie added, thinking it would give her something to do. “You could do your studying at night.”

  “Oh dear, we’ve made you anxious,” Vi said.

  Indeed, June looked slightly nauseated. She was saved from responding by the waiter, who asked if they were finished and refilled Vi’s and Francie’s wineglasses.

  “I see you enjoyed your dinner,” he said, winking at June. When she blushed, Francie could have stabbed him.

  When he was gone, she said, “I once had an appetite like yours—I was thin as a rail too. Maybe the mountain air will encourage me to get more exercise. I could even look into a reducing program.”

  “There are the most wonderful trails here for hiking,” Vi said.

  “Now you can see them again.”

  But Vi merely shrugged. “It was so long ago. I doubt I could make it halfway up those trails anymore.”

  “I’d love to see them,” June said, “if you ever wanted company.”

  “Thank you, that’s very kind.”

  “And I can’t wait to see the house you grew up in,” Francie said. “You said it’s next to the cemetery, right? We can go with you to visit your parents’ graves, if you like.”

  “Sure,” Vi said. “That would be nice. There’s a plot there for me, you know. My dad bought all three on a payment plan years ago. I want to be buried there when I die.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Francie to wonder where she would be buried now—she’d always assumed that someday she’d be laid to rest next to Arthur, and there was no room near her parents’ graves. What would become of her—would they bury her with all her distant relatives in the far corner of the family section of the cemetery, so that future generations would wonder how a Meeker ended up among all those Knopfs? “Let’s not think about that now.”

  “If not now, when?” Vi drained her wine. She’d drunk more tonight than Francie had ever seen her drink before. “It’s the sort of thing people should know, isn’t it? And I don’t want to burden the boys with it.”

  “Well—you can tell your lawyer, then,” Francie said. “Send him a letter. But tonight we’re celebrating and I won’t hear another word on the subject.”

  There was a sudden commotion across the room, raised voices and the sound of breaking glass. Everyone turned to stare at the maître d’, who was attempting to lead a disheveled man away from the dining room. At their feet, a floral arrangement lay in ruins, the vase shattered, the blooms trampled by the stranger’s heavy boots.

  “You’re a goddamn liar!” he shouted, slurring his words, his face bright red. “I know she’s here!”

  The maître d’ spoke quietly while trying to steer the man away, but the stranger shook him off. He lunged for the reservation book just as a huge man in a stained white apron emerged from the kitchen. He yanked the book out of the stranger’s hands and handed it to the maître d’, then grabbed the stranger’s arm and dragged him, cursing, to the elevator. As he pushed the button the stranger landed a kick on his shin, so the large man wrapped his meaty arm around his neck and held him while he writhed and choked until the elevator arrived. Then he dragged the man inside.

  “My goodness!” Francie said, as conversation resumed all around them. “I wonder what that was about.”

  Only then did she notice that June was white as a sheet.

  Chapter 9

  Virgie

  Virgie had dealt with crying children before, but Patty was keeping it up longer than most. When Virgie tried to pick her up, Patty stiffened her spine and Virgie nearly dropped her, so she tried begging.

  “Please, Patty, please stop crying, just for a minute? We can play house or choo-choo or explorers. We can play anything you like. I have a coloring book, do you want to make a picture?”

  If Virgie couldn’t get her to stop soon, the neighboring guests would call the desk to complain and her mother wou
ld come up to investigate, and she might even decide that Virgie couldn’t handle Patty and insist on taking over. Which would be terrible, because then Virgie wouldn’t be paid.

  She looked around for a doll, a stuffed bear, anything that might distract the little girl. “Stay right here. I’m going to see if I can find your toys.”

  The door to the smaller bedroom was open and Virgie slipped inside, turning on the light. She was an expert in covering her tracks; she’d snuck into the guest rooms ever since her mother gave her a copy of the master key.

  A battered suitcase sat open on the luggage rack, but it was empty. Four dresses hung in the closet—strangely, they were mere rags, patched and faded from washing. The desk was empty save for a small, worn Bible.

  Virgie checked the dresser and found a stack of pretty child’s dresses, neatly folded, and half a dozen pairs of little socks. A small frame on the dresser held a blurry photo of what might have been a younger version of Mrs. Samples with an older couple.

  Virgie was so intent on her search that she almost missed the fact that the crying had stopped. Silence—blessed silence—filled the air. Patty stood in the doorway, watching her curiously.

  “I’m only looking for a toy,” Virgie said. “I know you don’t trust me yet, but I’m your friend.”

  At the sound of her voice, Patty’s expression shifted; she looked as if she was going to start crying again. Virgie had had quite enough, and she picked Patty up. “Before you start up again, let’s think about this. You’re stuck here for six weeks. There aren’t any other little kids staying here right now, and your mother is probably going to act a little funny for a while. Trust me, kid, you’re going to need a friend. So give me a chance, and we can have some fun. How about it?”

  Patty regarded her owlishly. “Draw picture,” she finally said.

  “Draw picture, now that’s a good idea,” Virgie said. “How about I make you a picture and you can color it in? What are you in the mood for? Kitties? Birthday cakes?”

  These were the subjects her last charges had demanded. But Patty looked at her with a serious expression and said, “Pony. And a spoon. Put me down.”

 

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