An idea struck her. She wanted to get a small, inexpensive gift for Papa. A memento of this trip. She would look for a flag to replace the one he kept pinned by his bed. That one was quite old—it had only forty-five stars, purchased when they first came to this county and Oklahoma was a mere territory. Now the country spanned ocean to ocean, uninterrupted. It was complete. There was nowhere else the nation could grow.
“Where’s my Vera right now? Head in the clouds?”
She turned away from looking up to find Angelo standing in front of her, the frost from the train ride seeming to thaw. Pearl and Will had gone ahead up the stairs, Pearl hoisting him on her hip in motherly fashion and pointing out things that Vera could not yet see from here.
The words my Vera were not lost on her as she took Angelo’s arm and climbed the steps at the front of the hotel.
She would always be his Vera, no matter what directions their lives took them.
Two attendants opened the double doors, and Vera felt as if she’d stepped into a dream. Or inside a jewelry box. The great hall dazzled with chandeliers dripping with crystals. Mosaic marble floors inlaid with flowers. Ceilings painted with scroll upon scroll. Velvet sofas. Stained glass. She almost didn’t know where to look first.
Angelo placed his hand on hers and squeezed it. She looked in his eyes and felt in this moment that he was a little more hers than he was Pearl’s. He would understand the awe of such a scene.
He leaned in, confirming her thoughts. “Quite a different world from the one we know. The street in front of Penn Station. No four-cent frankfurters from the roach coaches here,” he said, referring to the nickname for the less reputable street food vendors. “These people must eat caviar and roast beef.”
“And gold-plated chocolates.” She giggled.
“Platinum-crusted steaks!” he added.
“Diamond-topped petits fours!” Vera felt her heart quicken as if she’d sprinted here from the train station. Angelo could always do that to her. She was grateful that her heart wasn’t audible. It might roar like the train itself.
He grinned. “It would cost me ten years’ work to buy something like that.”
“And a lifetime for me.”
They looked at each other, their smiles melting in unison. A wave of regret dimmed the sparkle that had temporarily illuminated Angelo’s face. She wondered what he was thinking. Did it match her own thoughts—that they would be so well suited to each other, if only things were different? They came from the same place. They wanted the same things.
They lingered there, the children of immigrants scraping by an existence, standing in worn-out shoes on mirrorlike marble floors in a country that was theirs only by the charity of a copper woman in New York Harbor who welcomed the tired, the poor, the huddled masses. Vera wondered if Angelo felt the enormity of what it took for each of them to be right there, right in that moment.
The sacrifices of their parents. Enduring weeks on ships across a boundless Atlantic, praying that they would not be turned away from the land of milk and honey, only to find that it took seven days of backbreaking work to eke out a living that could only occasionally offer such simple items. Milk and honey were not promises. They were luxuries.
Vera looked up at Pearl, who had stopped and motioned for them to join her. She blended seamlessly into the opulent surroundings. She had given up much to marry Angelo and to march for causes she believed in. But it was the world she came from. She hadn’t grown up with the ache of hunger, the freeze that could paralyze you in the winter, the heat that made you beg for death to come early.
Then again, she’d willingly descended to it. And that had to count for much.
In America, not only could the poor become rich but also the rich could become poor. Even by choice. And Pearl had chosen this. For love? For rebellion? For justice? Her motives didn’t matter. She’d done it.
Vera, too, had a choice. She was choosing to leave them. Her part in the cosmic drama that intertwined true love with true sacrifice, almost to the point where they were indistinguishable from each other.
Wasn’t that what both her parents had done? Sacrificed themselves to provide for the family?
Pearl was still holding Will’s hand, and she’d crouched next to him to point out the ceiling. It warmed Vera’s heart to see her make such a motherly gesture.
Angelo’s words broke into her thoughts. “We’d better catch up. Besides, we vagabonds don’t want to keep the ruby-coated ice cream waiting.”
Vera wondered silently how they would be able to afford to eat anything here. She imagined having to scrub the kitchen floors when the management found out that they had no money.
The ice cream did not have rubies on it. But Angelo had not been far off in his jest. Vera ordered what she thought would be a simple dish of chocolate. But it came out in a large crystal bowl, as Pearl had somehow known it would. Three scoops. Topped with mountains of what Pearl told her was “European cream” and sprinkled with little red gems that reflected the light of the chandelier that shone above them.
“They’re pomegranate seeds,” Pearl explained when she saw Vera rolling one around on her spoon and staring at it.
“Yes,” Angelo agreed. “I remember those from my childhood. We had a pomegranate bush in our town square. Melograno. It would start out as a red blossom. As it grew, it became harder and harder at the stem until it was a ball about the size of a fist. We’d crack them open, and inside you’d find hundreds and hundreds of those seeds. Just like what you’re holding.”
“Hundreds?” asked Vera, imagining what it might have looked like.
He nodded. “They were surrounded by this fibrous maze, and you’d dig them out a few at a time. It wasn’t like eating any other fruit. It could take you an hour to eat a pomegranate. Halfway through, though, we’d get tired of the seeds, and my cousins and I used to spit them at one another. Or across a field to see who could spit the farthest. My cousin shot one right into my eye once.”
Pearl laughed. “And I’m sure you’re just waiting until Will is older so that you can teach the same things to our son.”
“Of course! A boy needs to learn good aim.”
Pearl leaned over and kissed Angelo on the cheek. Vera fumbled with her napkin, tracing her finger along its scalloped lines so as to avoid watching their intimacy.
Maybe there was a man in her future. She wouldn’t shut the door on it. But the bar had been set high. Angelo was not only woven into her childhood but also offered her comfort and laughter and joy. As certain as she was that he belonged to someone else, she knew what it felt like to love a man as she did him, and she was not going to settle for a substitute.
Vera heard a bustling roar approach behind her. Pearl looked up and smiled.
“Ladies, how good to see you!”
Three women approached the table. Pearl made introductions, saying that they had been on the walk with her all the way from its start in New York. Angelo used his napkin to wipe a dot of ice cream from his lip and stood to greet each of them.
“This is my husband, Angelo Bellavia. My son, William, and our dear friend Vera Keller.”
Angelo rose and picked Will up in his arms. “Stand up, son. Let’s shake hands with your mother’s friends.”
“Dianne Voorhees.”
“Emily Banker.”
“Irina Katalova.” The last woman said her name with a thick accent like some of the Russian girls whom Vera worked with at the factory.
Each woman shook Will’s hand.
“What a gentleman you have there, Mrs. Bellavia,” said the one named Dianne. Vera remembered her from the Christmas market, of course, but was unsurprised that Miss Voorhees didn’t recognize her in return.
Vera thought that the distance they’d covered in the suffragette march might have allowed formalities to drop and Christian names to be used, but perhaps the old habits of the upper class never really died. It was a luxury, perhaps, to speak that way. Not so in the kind of shirtwaist fac
tory that Vera had worked in. On a good day, Vera could sit and sew buttonholes by hand. On a bad day, sweat from the summer sun pooled on their benches and pitchers of water were passed around from which everyone drank. You didn’t share water and working conditions with someone and call them anything other than Fiona. Hedwig. Rebekah. In fact, Vera hadn’t even known her coworkers’ surnames, let alone used them.
It occurred to her that to know someone’s whole name was like knowing the whole person. A surname implied history. Family. Geography. A given name implied intimacy. Familiarity. Shared hardship. The lower classes understood this. Family history meant nothing when you were fanning the girl across from you so that she didn’t faint after twelve hours in an unventilated workroom. No one had ever called her “Miss Keller” except for the fruit seller, but at least she was no longer “Kid” to Angelo.
She realized she’d been musing while the women talked, and she caught the end of their conversation.
“What do you think that means for women,” asked Pearl, “if our new president cancels the inaugural ball because he doesn’t think dancing is ‘appropriate’?”
“Well, not all dancing,” said Dianne. “Apparently he doesn’t like what he considers modern. You know, the turkey trot. Or the honey bug.”
“Those wouldn’t have had a place at a ball like that, though, would they?” said Pearl.
“I’d think a new president could have any type of ball he wants.”
“Or none at all,” suggested Angelo, who had been silent until now. “I suppose he can do whatever he wants.”
Pearl nodded. “Well, so long as he supports votes for women, he can celebrate any way he likes.”
The women voiced their agreement.
“But what that means, Mrs. Bellavia,” Miss Voorhees continued, “is that the three of us are going to start back to New York right after the march, since the festivities are concluding earlier than expected. So the bedroom here at the Willard will be free for your own use tomorrow night.”
Dianne Voorhees looked at Angelo as she said this and then back at Pearl. Vera thought she might have seen her wink but dismissed the thought. It seemed too inappropriate a gesture for a lady to make, but Vera did not pretend to know all the inner workings of that class of people.
“That sounds like great fun.” Pearl pressed her hands together. “But I’m afraid I couldn’t leave poor Vera all alone with Will in the hostel. It wouldn’t be fair after they came all this way.”
The eyes of the three other women landed on Vera as if a challenge had been given and was awaiting acceptance.
She took a deep breath. She wouldn’t deny Pearl and Angelo this opportunity, but the women had robbed her of the chance to suggest it first. And she would have. She put on a smile that she hoped seemed gracious.
Vera turned to Pearl. “Of course you should take the room. You and Angelo never got to go away after your wedding. Let this be my gift to you. I’d be happy to keep Will so you can stay at the Willard together.”
She tried to avoid any images of what this might mean, which was not terribly difficult, as she did not have any personal experience with the subject.
Pearl accepted without hesitation.
“Oh, Vera, you are too much of a darling. How sweet of you to offer.” She linked her arm through her husband’s and smiled at him. “We’ll join you at the hostel tonight and then head back here tomorrow.”
Dianne Voorhees intervened and put a manicured hand on Pearl’s shoulder. “Mrs. Bellavia, do you really think that’s wise? You’ve come all this way on foot, and we have the march first thing in the morning. I would think you’d want to be well rested.”
She could tell that the woman was appalled at the idea of a lady like Pearl staying in such humble housing. Vera looked at her friend. Pearl’s lips were tight. As if she wanted to say yes but felt that it wasn’t right to do so.
Vera didn’t know what to do, either. Pearl had more than earned the right to stay in the luxury of this place, but in doing so, it would cast Vera with Angelo and Will, prolonging the little fantasy she’d had of them as a family. And that felt like a betrayal of her friend.
But, added to the fact that Miss Voorhees was one of the most intimidating people she’d ever met and she didn’t dare speak out against her insistence, Vera couldn’t exactly voice that objection.
Vera glanced at Angelo, hoping for guidance. He stared right back at her, but she couldn’t read his expression. Did he feel the same precipice that she did?
Here she had made the decision to remove herself from all temptation, and yet she was being thrown into it despite her best efforts.
Before she could speak, Angelo rubbed his chin and turned to Pearl. “Of course she’s right. Vera and I are scrappers. We’ll manage just fine with Will. In fact, I’ll take him to the room in the men’s wing tonight, and Vera can even enjoy a night off to herself.”
Vera let go of a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. Of course. He’d said that he had reserved two rooms. And it made sense that hostels separated the men’s rooms from the women’s. Maybe there was little to worry about.
“Then it’s settled?” Miss Voorhees asked.
Pearl smiled. “I suppose it is! Thank you, darling.”
“Excellent,” said Miss Voorhees. “I’m sure you’ll want to show your family around the city, but do be back by dinnertime if you can. Alice Paul is giving a reception in one of the salons here at the Willard. She’s just moved here to Washington, and it would be so wonderful if you could join us.”
Even Vera knew who Alice Paul was. A giant in the suffragette movement both in the United States and in Britain. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of being able to meet such a formidable woman.
Pearl had the same thought and grasped Vera’s hand. “Of course we’ll join you. Thank you for the invitation.”
The woman frowned. “I’m afraid it’s only for ladies.”
“I understand. I meant that Miss Keller and I will join you.”
Miss Voorhees’s eyes looked Vera over, up and down. “And how lovely that would be indeed. But unfortunately there is a certain attire that is required.”
“I’ll lend one of my dresses to her. I sent a trunk ahead on one of the escort cars.”
But the woman shook her head. “You’re much taller than her, Mrs. Bellavia, and I’m afraid she’d be uncomfortable in such a setting.”
Vera felt as if she were back in Mr. Severino’s butcher shop. She was clearly too sinewy for the company of people such as Miss Voorhees. Her companions, Miss Banker and Miss Katalova, were silent the whole time. Mousy in the shadow of a cat like Dianne Voorhees.
Pearl began to open her mouth, and Vera had no doubt that her friend would refuse the invitation in protest. To spare her the confrontation, Vera responded instead. “How kind of you to consider my feelings, Miss Voorhees, and I agree that it might be a better setting for Mrs. Bellavia to attend alone.”
The woman smiled thinly. “Precisely. Wise girl. Here—here’s a lipstick.” She opened her drawstring purse and pulled out one of many pink containers.
A consolation prize. Like a coin thrown to a beggar.
It was red. Elizabeth Arden red lipstick. Ever since the cosmetics company founder donated hundreds of tubes to the suffragettes last year, the bright stain had become a symbol of the cause. Pearl only wore it during rallies. It looked artificial against her porcelain-white skin. And Vera had never even tried it.
She put her hand out to accept it in politeness, and Miss Voorhees turned back toward Pearl, Vera already forgotten. “Well then, we must be off. Don’t worry about the ice-cream tab. Just charge it to the room. The benefactors were specific in their wishes to cover all the expenses at the hotel.”
Angelo caught Vera’s eye. Both were relieved, as neither had brought enough money for such an extravagance.
Light waned as Pearl, Angelo, Will, and Vera finished a small dinner near the Capitol building. Vera held Will’s hand and
lingered several paces behind the others. Pearl and Angelo were silhouetted against the glow of the streetlights. They walked closely but not touching, as they each folded their arms to brace against the ever-decreasing temperature. Vera pulled her thin coat around her neck and glanced down at Will to make sure that he was warm enough.
The scarf she’d knitted for him was holding its place, and he seemed to be unaffected by the chill. Children had such a talent for adjusting to the circumstances.
They stopped at the steps of the Willard, and Vera stooped down to Will’s level. “Say good night to your mother,” she whispered. She tapped his back to encourage him forward.
Pearl turned around and looked back down at them as she approached the doors to the hotel. “Are you sure about this? I feel so inconsiderate staying here and sending you all to the hostel.”
“You deserve this,” Angelo assured her. “We’ll be just fine. It will be like you’re home again.”
He turned to Vera, and she couldn’t help but agree. Pearl indeed belonged in a posh bedroom. And Vera would have Angelo to herself for the brief walk to the hostel, for the last time. Her chance to say goodbye, though she wasn’t going to voice it.
The Hooley House sat three blocks north of the Willard, which might have been across the world, considering the chasm between the two. Where the Willard was illuminated at every window, the Hooley House was dark save for a rusted gaslight at the front door. Vera scooped Will into her arms. He nestled into her shoulder and sank limply into a quick sleep.
“Here you go, Vera,” Angelo said as he opened a door on squeaky hinges. The use of her name made her feel guarded, though it was what she’d always wanted to hear from him. But given the day’s events, it put them on an even playing field for the first time. Man and woman.
The Way of Beauty Page 9