The Bootlegger's Wife: A Love Story

by Terri Lee

  On this glorious June day, Frances was full of hope. There would be no constraints, nothing standing in her way. Arm in arm, she and Lucy made their way down the busy sidewalks and Frances drew a deep breath in an effort to fill her lungs with the very essence of the city she loved.

  Bakeries and sidewalk cafés sent out their stealth invitations on the soft breeze that wrapped around their tiny shops. The hapless passers-by were unwittingly ensnared as they followed their noses to some preordained destination. A stroll down the sidewalk was like a whirlwind trip around the globe as the world’s citizens set up shop on every street corner, offering a feast for the senses that few other cities could match. It was France’s delight to try something new each time she visited.

  She even loved the smell of automobiles and their exhaust as they rushed past. To her, it was the smell of progress and people going places; moving, always moving. Instinctively knowing that to slow down would result in the horrible fate of being left behind, her steps quickened in an effort to keep up with the pulse on the city streets.

  Down to her very bones, she knew she had been gone too long. She was a strange hybrid, equal parts Country Mouse and City Mouse. Too long spent in one place left her craving the other. Cooped up for months on the campus at Bryn Mawr, she was restless and eager to see what she might have missed. Dresses were waiting to be purchased. And lunches waiting to be had in swanky restaurants, where one went to see and be seen, seated at perfect little tables with starched white cloths and stiff waiters attending to your every wish. Not to mention the parties, dances, and visits with old friends. There would never be enough time for her to do all the things she wanted to do. She would manage to do it all with Lucy by her side.

  Stopping in front of the large window at Lord and Taylor on Fifth Avenue, Frances stood mesmerized. After several moments, Lucy broke into her cousin’s trance. “You look like you’re a million miles away. Are you thinking of buying that dress?”

  “No,” Frances said, while never taking her eyes off the window, “it’s not the dress I’m in love with. It’s the mannequin.”

  Lucy followed Frances’s gaze. “What?”

  Frances took both of Lucy’s hands in hers and her mischievous grin should have been a warning sign. “I know what we need to do. We should get our hair cut.”

  Lucy pulled back. Frances was always dreaming up something and usually dragging her along for good measure. “I don’t know…”

  Frances stood behind her younger cousin and pushed her up close to the glass. “Now take a good look at her hair. Isn’t she just perfect?”

  Lucy titled her head as she studied the mannequin, letting the idea sink in. The model in question, frozen in perpetual perfection with a Mona Lisa smile on her face, looked down at Lucy as if she had a delicious secret. Lucy began to smile in return. “Do you think we really should?” As usual, she let herself get caught up in her cousin’s enthusiasm.

  “No, we shouldn’t. And that is exactly why we should do it,” Frances said with an air of conspiracy.

  “My mother will probably kill me.” Lucy started to have second thoughts.

  “Well, my mother will kill me either way, so I might as well die with short hair.”

  “But cutting my hair without talking to Mommy is pretty drastic.”

  “It’s always easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission,” Frances said over her shoulder as she dragged her cousin away from the window in search of a nearby salon. Finding just the place, the two entered the little shop, prepared to make a very big transformation before either one could change their mind.

  Several of the young women who were working in the salon were sporting the latest trend in short hair and Frances felt childish with her long locks tucked and pinned in such a proper fashion. She couldn’t wait to settle into the chair and begin. Lucy grimaced at her from the next seat and Frances could sense her cousin’s creeping doubt. Too late now.

  Frances could feel the excitement mount with each inch of hair removed. As she watched the dark tresses float into little piles on the floor beneath her feet, she felt as if a weight was being removed from her very being. Lighter and lighter, she was sure by the time the haircut was concluded, she would float right out of the chair.

  The stylist, who was more than happy to inform Frances that she had been trained in the salons of Paris, spun her around and removed the smock as if she were a great artist unveiling her latest creation. Frances blinked at the unfamiliar young woman staring back at her, but unwilling to appear any less confident than the sophisticated hairdressers, she simply nodded and smiled a non-committal “thank you.”

  Frances decided to wait until she and Lucy had reached the safety of the sidewalk before taking the time to study the metamorphosis that had just taken place. Looking at her reflection in the shop window next door, she stood, wide-eyed. She loved what she saw. The bob was a perfect fit. Her dark hair fell in a sleek line along her jaw and the fringe of bangs created a frame for her dark brown eyes.

  “Look at us. We are beautiful,” Frances declared without reservation or modesty of any kind. She reached up to once again run her fingers through the ends of her hair. She tossed her head and reveled in the unaccustomed lightness as the strands brushed against the back of her neck. From pigtails, to braids, to intricate upswept fashions, she had always worn her hair long. This new sensation of freedom left her giddy.

  As the newly shorn pair marched down the sidewalk toward home, the realization that they would now come face to face with the consequence of their rash decision began to take hold. The excitement of the moment began to fade with each step. This was not simply a haircut, but rather a thumb in the eye of society.

  It was a bold statement of independence for a young woman to cut off the long locks that had taken years to grow. A woman’s hair was still considered her crowning glory. Short hair might be fine for Hollywood actresses and other young women of questionable repute, but Frances was quite sure that William Durant was not ready for his nineteen-year-old daughter to step out into the world with this modern look.

  She reminded herself quickly that it would be weeks before she would see either of her parents and besides what could they do other than disapprove? Since she was quite used to being on the receiving end of their displeasure, she had nothing to lose.

  As the girls wound their way through the city, Frances found herself caught up in her usual admiration for the architecture that surrounded her on all sides. Like an adolescent male the city had an insatiable appetite and there was not enough real estate to accommodate the growing pains as the metropolis continued to flex its muscles. Thankfully, New York had mastered the art of building vertically and skyscrapers were the sign of the times. Like a group of teen-aged boys, the buildings shot up straight, strong and strutting as they proclaimed, “look at me.”

  Frances craned her neck as she took in the ever changing skyline. The concrete and steel edifices that stretched from their tiptoes to the sky intrigued her. She loved walking in the shadows of the land of giants.

  Before they knew it, the pair had arrived at Lucy’s house. They stood looking up at the front door, not at all sure what would greet them. Squeezing each other’s hand for courage, they marched up the steps with more confidence than they felt.

  “Mommy, we’re home,” Lucy called out gaily and Frances knew that she hoped to throw her mother off guard by the innocence of her greeting. Frances strode into the living room and stood before her aunt without a hint of apology.

  “Well, what do you think, Aunt Evelyn?” She twirled like a dancer on a stage to give her aunt the full view. No need to beat around the bush. Just face things head on, was her creed.

  Evelyn’s hand went to her mouth and she began to blink in that nervous habit of hers, “Oh, my goodness. Where is your hair?” Before Frances could reply, Lucy slid into position to stand beside her partner in crime, and Evelyn’s eyes grew even rounder. “Oh, my goodness.”

  “You already said th
at.” Frances was very matter-of-fact.

  “Lena is going to kill me.”

  “Never mind about being killed. That’s my problem. Lena has killed me several times and I’ve lived to tell about it. But don’t you think our hair is perfect?”

  Evelyn walked up to her daughter and touched her soft blonde strands. “I’m not sure I recognize you. You look so grown-up, Lucy.” Although she said this with a wistful tone, there was hardly a more sought-after compliment that a young woman could hear, and Lucy’s grin attested to her triumph.

  Frances adopted a conspiratorial tone. “Aunt Evelyn, I think you should get your hair cut, too.”

  “Oh now, let’s deal with one problem at a time.” Evelyn waved away her teasing. “We still have Lucy’s father to contend with. And I’m telling you, Lena is positively going to have a fit.” Evelyn began to shake her head, contemplating her older sister’s ire. Although her face softened as she took in the fresh-faced beauty of the two young women before her.

  “Really, Aunt Evelyn, she’ll get over it. It’s only hair. It’ll grow back. It’s 1919, for heaven’s sake, and I, for one, don’t intend to be stuck in the last century.”

  Sensing a weakening in her aunt’s reservations, she continued boldly, “I do hope you think about getting your hair cut. I think it’s always better to be at the forefront of a new wave instead of bringing up the rear. And it would be grand if you did it before Lena does.” The last sentence was delivered with a wicked grin that was not wasted on her aunt.

  Evelyn suppressed a smile at her niece. “You never fail to impress me with your fearlessness. From the time you were a little girl, you’ve been in charge of your own destiny.”

  Evelyn reached out and touched Lucy’s face. “My girl, you are beautiful.” She pulled both girls close. “Both of you, so young and beautiful.”

  Frances and Lucy breathed a sigh of relief. And within two days’ time, Evelyn was at the very same salon, getting her hair cut as the freshly clipped pair cheered her on.

  FOUR

  Though Lucy and her family did not live in the same stratosphere that Frances did, their life was more than comfortable and Frances often thought to herself she would have been happy to come down from the clouds to join in the Drummond family circle.

  Observing the closeness between Lucy and Evelyn, she had to ask herself, how it was that she got stuck with Lena. In what slim instant had fate stepped in and declared, “No, this kind of happiness is not for you!”

  She would often sit back and take in the laughter and silliness at the dinner table with her two younger nephews holding court. Tonight’s dinner was no different. Her nephews, George and Timmy, were having a battle over a chicken leg. Uncle Nate intervened and the warring factions settled down for the moment. Frances looked around the table and realized that Lucy’s life on Winston Drive was a world removed from what Frances was used to. For years, Frances assumed that her parents only lived downstairs. The upstairs wing was for the children’s playroom, the nursery, the bedrooms, and the classroom with its rotating governesses. Frances could not remember a single time when Lena had entered the nursery or classroom.

  Once a day, Frances, Charles, and Margaret would be freshly scrubbed and marched downstairs for inspection. Paraded in front of Lena and her guests, they were expected to perform some perfunctory task on cue. Frances developed a keen distaste for this ritual. She despised the notion of being a show pony.

  The children would illicit smiles, quiet applause, and a cursory nod as everyone agreed what charming young children Lena had. Except for Margaret, who was always painfully shy and preferred to hang back in the shadows and watch. Secretly though, Frances thought this display was to impress her parents with what a great job the current governess was doing.

  Once the standing inspection with their Mother had concluded, the parties stood in awkward silence as there was not much left to be said. Frances remembered hearing whispers over the years that “Lena just didn’t bond well with children.” By the time the children were old enough to carry on polite conversation and could be safely allowed into the inner sanctum, it was already too late. The politeness at arms’ length had taken its toll. They didn’t know one another.

  “Frances are you still with us?” Aunt Evelyn asked from across the table.

  Frances startled out of her reverie, looked up. “Excuse me?”

  “Is everything alright, dear? You seem to be lost in your thoughts.”

  “I’m fine. Just day dreaming, I guess.” Frances pushed her peas around her plate. “Sorry.” She wished everyone would stop looking at her. She turned her full attention to her Uncle Nate, who was in the middle of a story that had the boys captivated. Oh my, something about cowboys and Indians. Timmy’s eyes were round as saucers as he begged his father for more details.

  Frances grinned to herself. She couldn’t imagine her father telling a story like that at the dinner table. Or any other time for that matter. She and Charles had always finished eating long before their father came home at night. And when he did come home, he had no time for nonsense.

  William Durant was like most of the other fathers she knew, too busy to pay much attention. Fathers were mostly there to give you a quick kiss good-night and to give a stern glance from behind the morning paper, if needed. Mostly, fathers were not there. Except those like her Uncle Nate, that is.

  When she was younger, she used to like to pretend that Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Nate were her parents. Summer vacations spent with Lucy and her family were her salvation. She fantasized about life in the welcoming house where everyone sat around the dinner table and laughed. Her waking dreams were filled with a place where parents beamed over the slightest accomplishment or silly joke. Wish all she might that things could be different, the cards had already been dealt and she knew she had to play the hand that she had been given.

  When wondering how it was possible that Lena and Evelyn could be so completely different, she was reminded that she need look no further than her own relationships to see that siblings could be polar opposites in their demeanor, no matter how similar in appearance.

  From across the table, Frances watched Lucy and Evelyn sharing a private moment and their easy familiarity caused some long buried need to rise up and catch in her throat. Although she was usually a master at keeping those yearnings pushed far below the surface, every once in awhile she would be caught off guard by an innocent display of emotion and the natural longing would undo her carefully crafted indifference.

  She knew enough to know that there was no such thing as a perfect family, but she also knew this was pretty darn close. She supposed she should just be grateful for the time she was allowed to spend with her cousin. And she was, for because of them she had been given an intimate glimpse into another way of life. Now she realized, this was the life she wanted for herself. She bit into her hard roll as she chewed over this revelation. Yes. She wanted to sit around the table with her children and a husband who would be happy to tell outrageous stories.

  “Aren’t you excited, Frances?” Lucy interrupted her thoughts.

  “Yes I am.” Frances looked up from her plate, as she answered her own questions.

  “Have you even been listening?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Mommy said that there is a big party at The Brocade Room this Friday night. We should go.”

  “Of course we should go. It sounds great.” Frances’s eyes lit up. After all that was the reason she had come to the city. Although she had so much more to think about now. She needed to sit alone with the epiphany that had landed in her plate along with her mashed potatoes and contemplate what the changes in her life might look like, if she chose a path other than the one that had been preordained. She needed time for her thoughts to crystallize. She would have to understand it herself, before she could be expected to explain it to someone else. Even Lucy.

  ***

  Frances and Lucy jockeyed for position in front of the full length mirror and cr
itiqued one another’s outfits that were donned and just as quickly discarded. The floor was littered with dresses that did not make the cut. After much back and forth, both girls felt that they had achieved the goal they had set for themselves that evening. This was no small task.

  “Can you believe only a couple of years ago we were wearing those ridiculous corsets?” Frances said, hands on hips, as she eyed her reflection. “Why in the world would women have ever agreed to such a thing? And who could have come up with that torture chamber of an idea?” She was captivated by the way the beading on the peach silk dress caught the light when she moved. “Must have been a man who hated women.” Frances answered her own question.

  “No doubt.”

  “You know,” Frances continued to scrutinize her image, “I don’t believe that I’m going to be Frances Durant tonight.”

  Lucy plopped down on the little vanity stool and turned to face her cousin squarely. “What are you talking about? Who are you going to be?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. The only thing I’m sure of, is that there will be no Frances this evening. I hate that name.” Frances stuck her tongue out at her reflection. She was quite full of herself lately and the recent triumph of her haircut had only added to her perceived sense of power.

  “You’re crazy.”

  “That may be, but just make sure you follow my lead.”

  “Don’t I always?” Lucy threw up her hands.

  ***

  The music spilled out onto the street as Uncle Nate dropped the girls at their destination. The excitement hung in the air like a promise and Frances and Lucy were in such a hurry to get inside that they could barely comprehend his admonishments to watch out for one another and that he would be back at one a.m. to pick them up. Honeyed notes escaped the confines of the ballroom each time the wide double doors were opened to accept a new reveler. As soon as they entered the space, the music from the band met them with full force.