by Angela Smith
“What do you think, darling? Does it seem authentic enough?” Marisol asked me, as she waved her hand around the room gesturing to the wide array of things to look at. “I hired one of the top rated party planners in the area.”
“It’s unbelievable!” I said, and really, it was. “You did a great job of bringing the atmosphere alive.”
Once I got over the initial shock of seeing the party decorations, Marisol took me to her guest room where she had laid out a series of dresses, headpieces, shoes, jewelry and more for me to try on.
“Now listen to me. Don’t go trying all of these things on. Go with your gut instinct and you’ll be set as sugar. I’m going to go get ready myself and I’ll see you back in the lounge in a half hour,” Marisol said before escaping to her own room and leaving behind a light breeze of CoCo Chanel scented air.
Now that I was alone, I decided to check out the dresses on offer and did as Marisol said. I picked up a gorgeous gold dress with fringe that fell just below my knee. I paired it with a black feathered headband and a pair of to-die-for vintage Chanel shoes. I then sat down at the dressing table and looked at myself in the oval mirror. I wasn’t sure exactly what to do with my makeup but I decided to attempt (and I use that word lightly) to do Clara Bow style lips as well as a dark smoky eye. The end result wasn’t as great as I had hoped but at least I wouldn’t scare anyone off. At least I hoped I wouldn’t. Finally, I added some jewelry, which all appeared to be real and sparkled like stars under the dressing table lights. I felt like a real Flapper in my outfit and I knew Marisol would be very proud of my effort.
When I was all set and had calmed my nerves enough, I walked over to the lounge where Marisol was already waiting. She looked so sweet in her own Flapper style dress, with heels – albeit shorter in height than mine – and a vintage hat. I immediately hugged her without thinking twice and although she gave me a gentle squeeze in return, she pulled away quickly.
“My chickadee, you look gorgeous! A true broad you are!”
“Thanks, Marisol. You look lovely youself.”
“Oh, this old thing?” she said, pulling out the sides of her dress to show just how big it was on her. “It used to fit me quite a bit better, but you know how it goes. You get old and frail and things start to sag. My boobs are already well pat my knees. If they go any lower, I’ll be dragging them on the floor!”
I laughed to the point of tears at this comment as I knew it was something to expect from this witty old woman who loved to live it up despite her advanced age.
“Oh! That’ll be our first guest! Bernard! Answer the door, will you love?” she said before patting down her dress and standing up as straight as possible.
“Now Autumn, make sure you converse and socialize tonight. This crowd may seem intimidating but they’re all really a bunch of freaks. They’re nowhere near as dapper as you and I are.”
As the guests filtered in, I studied each one intently and watched as they formed circles around the room. Marisol would often whisper in my ear if someone had a particular trait she either liked or disliked.
“Oh, that one over there in the faux fur coat and kitten heels is quite the floozy,” she said of one woman who looked like she was trying too hard to fit in. Of another she said “Don’t talk to her. She’s a little…off. She’s a boozehound who had her beezer replaced last year. Apparently it didn’t work out well because now it’s even more crooked than the original. Plastic surgery is for wannabes. Rule number one of being a Flapper : Be happy in your own skin, Chickadee.”
I stood clear of the woman with the nose job as she did reek of alcohol and seemed a little odd to me, but I tried to talk with other guests and mingle as best I could. The crowd was a bit intimidating. The men were dressed in three piece suits and the women all wore immaculate looking dresses. There were the “Sheiks” – men who wore bell bottom trousers and raccoon coats – and then there were the more dressed up men who resembled gangsters like Al Capone. It was very eclectic mix of people. If I weren’t so involved in the party, I’d have been happy to just sit on the side and people watch.
“Darling, they’re going to do the Lindy Hop now! Do join in! I know your grandfather said you had two left feet but at least try. No one will even notice if you’re a bad dancer,” Marisol said to me as she pished me into the center of the room. I stood stock still for a moment before getting swept up in the excitement that was permeating from every corner of the room. I couldn’t dance for the life of me, but how hard could the Lindy Hop actually be?
Very hard, I soon found out. As Marisol sat in a chair and laughed mercilessly, I struggled to find my footing. Apparently, dancers were supposed to jump in sequence, which I just couldn’t seem to get the hang of and then the women were swung in the air by their partners. Seeing as my partner was a seventy-something year old with a walking stick, I knew I wouldn’t be swinging anywhere, except on the floor. Luckily, the drop was quick and I was able to jump back on to my feet before anyone noticed.
As the night progressed, the guests became more raucous. They had drank more than enough of Marisol’s favorite giggle juice to sink the Titantic all over again and were stumbling about as they went for the exit. As most of them were leaving in chauffeur driven cars, we didn’t have to worry about anyone getting hurt but I was quite relieved when the evening was done and I could sit down and kick off my diamond studded heels.
“Well, that was quite the party! No one called the buttons, no one ended up in that caboose you modern kids call jail and no one died. I’d say that makes for a very successful evening, wouldn’t you, Autumn?”
“I would,” I agreed. “But now, I just want to sleep forever. I am completely worn out and you should be too.”
“Don’t fret about me, youngin. I know my limits. I may seem like a fickle and frail old woman, but I know when too much is too much. As for you, you shouldn’t be so tired. You’re young, vibrant and ready to take on the world like the real Flappers did. Go home and rest up, I’m sure tomorrow will bring new and exciting things our way.”
Chapter Six
The day after the party, which was just a couple of days before Thanksgiving, I felt like I was floating on my way over to Marisol’s instead of walking. The Painted Ladies looked more vibrant than ever; the grass greener, the sky bluer. Clara trotted along beside me in her own little world where dogs could dress up and sing and dance. At least that’s what I liked to imagine she was thinking. She was quite the entertainer.
I rounded the corner to Summerhill Road and opened Marisol’s door. As usual the demure old woman was sitting on her gilded sofa, drinking gin and looking fabulous.
“Get over here, toots, we have a crisis this morning,” she said, waving me over with her free hand. She wouldn’t dare put her gin down, especially if there was a crisis as she said.
“What’s up, Marisol?”
“What’s up?! What’s up, you ask? HA!”
I was a little taken aback by the venom in her voice but put it all down to whatever crisis we were about to deal with. I hoped it wasn’t something too bad. I didn’t want to burst my Bayani-induced bubble just yet.
“My dear, I have it on good authority that someone at work is out to sabotage you. This could be that evil spirit you told me about, trying to reach you in a new way,” she said. “I don’t care about your palooka, though we will get to him in a minute – bad news there too I’m afraid – but no this is more serious. You see, someone at Fashion and Flare has it out for you. Have you noticed anything strange while you’re there? Think like a Flapper my dear! Be cunning, be a dick, put on your thinking hat!”
I had caught a few slang words in there. Dick meant detective as we’d previously established. Palooka meant man, so I’m guessing she was referring to Bayani with that one. My stomach sunk. What could possibly be wrong with our blossoming relationship?
“Are you thinking or daydreaming?” Marisol screamed at me. “This is serious stuff! Use your peeper, don’t be a patsy! My God!�
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I noticed that when Marisol was angry she used a lot more slang than usual so judging by how much slang she was throwing into this conversation, she must be irate.
“Can you just tell me what’s going on and where you heard it? That might help me narrow it down,” I explained as calmly as I could. There was no doubt about it, my lovely little bubble was fully popped and stomped on now.
“Well, you should know. The only person who gives me information about you is your grandfather. He says you remind him of a Flapper now by the way, but that’s beside the point. My point is, he told me that someone at that damn office is sabotaging you. Trying to make you their patsy, their fool, their bitch, to put it in modern terms. I don’t know who this is or whether it’s a man or woman but let me tell you, they have it in for you so watch out.”
“And secondly, I hear you’ve been canoodling with your new man friend the past few days. While I’m very glad to see that you’re happy, I suggest you be careful. From what I hear there’s a third party involved here and she’s not going to be happy when she finds out you’ve been creeping around with her man.”
“I have not been creeping around!” I yelled.
“Please, Chickadee, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m the one who’s been sitting here all morning trying to figure out how in the world to break all this to you without sending you into a backwards spiral.”
Sitting around thinking, my ass. More like sitting around drinking gin and tonics while waiting for me to show up so she could drop it on me like a nuclear bomb.
“Don’t be a pushover, Autumn. Don’t fall for their tricks. Put the screws on and rank everyone you come into contact with. If it comes down to it we’ll call the dicks in. I’m not about to let anyone ruin my hard work.”
I was dismissed shortly after Marisol’s outburst when she realized that I had no valuable information to give her. Her parting words were “Don’t go tooting the wrong ringer and giving yourself away! Be subtle, my girl, be subtle!”
Be subtle, indeed. How the hell was I going to be subtle when I had to second guess everyone around me? And who the hell was Bayani’s other woman?
I guess Santa doesn’t exist after all, because if he did, he would have never let this happen.
The next day I didn’t leave the house. Esteban called my name and banged on the door but I was in no mood to chat today. I had research to do and issues to resolve. As much as I wanted to pick up the phone when Bayani called, I resisted. I couldn’t speak to him right now. Not if he was a two-timing bastard who was toying with my already fragile heart.
I spent a few hours on the computer researching trends for my first feature piece, which by the sounds of it, might also be my last. Then I spent some more time googling Bayani to no avail.
When my phone rang again, I picked it up in a huff without looking at the caller ID.
“What do you want?” I said, still looking at my computer screen.
“My dear, whatever is the matter? Are you having a bad day?” Marisol said from the other end of the line. Of course it would be her. Calling to give me more bad news, I presumed.
“No, I’m fine. Peachy, in fact.”
“I don’t know what that means but I hope that doesn’t mean you’re peach-colored. Anywho, I’ll choose to ignore that and tell you why I called you on this damn ameche. I wanted to know if you and Clara would like to join me tomorrow for Thanksgiving dinner. Sophia will be here so maybe we can pick her brains if I put enough rum in the Tiramisu.”
The last person I wanted to see was Sophie. After all, she probably knew who wanted me gone. For God’s sake it could even be her!
“Thanks for the offer, Marisol, but I won’t be coming. I don’t think I can stomach much at the moment.”
“Suit yourself, Chickadee. If you change your mind, dinner is at 4 o’clock, cocktails at 3:00.” And with that she was gone.
A short while later as I was playing a game of Family Feud on the computer, my phone rang again. It was Bayani. He had called at least four times since this morning and had even knocked at my door around noon. I didn’t answer and I could hear Esteban telling him I “wasn’t fit to come out”, whatever that meant. Maybe that was his kind way of helping me out by telling Bayani to bugger off in the nicest way possible. Oh, nosey postmen, you had to love them sometimes.
I decided that I should answer this time around and see what he said to me. Maybe he was calling to confess the truth. Maybe my gramps had gotten into his head too and told him not to mess with me anymore.
I could only wish.
“Bayani, Hi,” I said, as casually as I could.
“Hey Sweets, I’ve been worried about you. I’ve been calling all day and Esteban told me you weren’t well. What’s going on?”
“Oh nothing. I’m fine. What’s going on with you? Anything you want to tell me?” Shit. That wasn’t too subtle was it? I needed to keep my big mouth shut sometimes.
“Um, no. Not that I can think of. I was actually calling to thank you for the great time the other night and ask you if you wanted to get together tomorrow for Thanksgiving. I hear there are some local diners open if you’re not up for the whole stuffing-a-turkey-and-making-a-million-pounds-of-potatoes routine.”
Seriously? Was he actually going to continue stringing me on? Well, two could play at that game.
“Actually Bayani, I’m going to a friend’s for Thanksgiving but you’re more than welcome to come along. Cocktails are at 3:00, dinner at 4:00,” I said, surprising myself with my strength.
“That sounds great!” Anything I can bring?” he asked.
“Nope, just yourself,” and your mistress, I thought to myself bitterly.
Apparently I was now going to Marisol’s for Thanksgiving so the only thing I could do was make something delicious and mouth-watering to share. She was inviting me into her home, after all.
I decided to make my signature banana cookies and apple rosemary tea bread. As I started preparing the ingredients I realized that I was cutting the apples a little harder than usual and smashing the bananas with a little more force. I guess I was unconsciously thinking of Bayani and his deception. The Gaul of him, kissing me the way that he did, touching me and making me feel special all while he had someone else on the side. I began to wonder if he ever had been overseas or if he was actually just with this other woman during that time. I also wondered what she was like and what she had that I didn’t.
I chopped and smashed harder. There’s nothing like a woman scorned.
Despite all my aggression, the cookies and bread came out better than ever. The cookies were browned just enough without being over cooked and the tea bread had an equal amount of rosemary and apple flavor. It was moist and delicious.
I bundled up my goodies the next morning, put Clara on her leash and set off for Marisol’s in my best dress around 11:00 in the morning. I texted Bayani and told him to meet me there a little later on. I hoped that I could talk to Marisol alone before he and Sophie arrived.
Marisol was wearing the most resplendent dress in a copper color and had paired it with an endearing headband with feathers. She looked like one of the women you’d see in a 1920s advert for tobacco, albeit with a lot more wrinkles and a lot less hair.
Though she shrugged off my compliment, I still felt that she looked beautiful. I didn’t say anything either, when I saw a tear in her eye at the unexpected niceties. Despite my reservations about seeing Sophie, I was actually glad I came because this lovely old woman, who knew so much and gave everything she had, was the closest thing I had to family on the west coast. This is where I should be on Thanksgiving, not at home alone and secluded.
Marisol handed Clara a turkey leg and my little girl scampered off to chew it in the corner on her bed. Marisol had become so fond of Clara that she had bought her a sleep number bed for dogs. I could only imagine how much it cost her and wasn’t surprised one bit when Clara started liking Marisol’s house better than our own barely furnished home.
“Thanks my love. Just stick them on the island in the kitchen and Bernard will put them out when it’s time,” she said, fluffing out her dress and then plopping down into her favorite chair.
“So, I hear that you’ve invited him over here today. Do you think that was a smart move?” she asked me.
“Well, maybe not a smart move but I think having him here and allowing him to meet you will be good. Maybe you can suss out any secrets he might have because I sure can’t seem to.”
We talked for a while longer, both of us trying and failing to figure out who could be trying to sabotage me at work. It wasn’t like I had been there long enough to make enemies yet so I was perplexed with this revelation.
“You know, back in the day, Clara Bow didn’t like me. She tried to take me down. Herself, Mary Pickford and Coleen Moore ganged up on me in 1927 because they thought I was a threat to them. Please. I didn’t want anything they had. I was happy with my business as a Medium and helping my family when I could. Just before the great depression, things were looking up for Ma and Pa so I did what I could to conjure up business for the restaurant which had reopened in 1926 as a speakeasy. Alcohol was still banned but we found ways to make our customers happy.”
“Anyway, Clara and her cohorts, who were all tomatoes but lacked personality, decided that they wanted to become Mediums too. It was the cool thing to do, apparently, so they set out to take me down. Unlike you, I didn’t know what they were up to and before you knew it my clients started going other places. All the dicks and croakers, all the trouble boys and the shysters started cancelling appointments. I couldn’t figure out why until one of my good friends informed me that Clara was spreading rumors that I was really a pro skirt – a prostitute basically – which is why all my clients began taking off and not wanting to be seen around me. Oh, the cheek of her! I was able to regain a little bit of my integrity but let me tell you, it was a bitch to do so. Which is why you need to find out who this bird brain is before they can pull you down. Use your noodle and outsmart them before it’s too late…”