Crestmont

by Holly Weiss

  He was worth the risk. Feeling emboldened, she ran to the bathroom to wash up. She freshened her makeup, changed into her dress and heels, and headed for the bowling alley. PT was probably still at dinner and most of the guests would be with Sid on the front lawn for game night. Gracie went in, saw that no one was there, and sat on one of the little stools under the scoreboard. When he came back she would tell him how she felt.

  Time ticked by and the bowling alley grew dark as the sun went down. She turned on a light so he would think a guest was there when he returned. Making herself small on the stool, she waited.

  When he came through the door his expression was inscrutable. “Come for a bowling lesson?” he asked nonchalantly, lighting a cigarette.

  “I was just in the neighborhood.” She mentally smacked herself for not working out a better opening line.

  PT went to the other side of the room and took a couple of long drags before tapping out his cigarette. Changing into his bowling shoes, he returned with a can of oil and some rags. He poured out some oil, polishing one of the lanes. Gracie sat quietly, waiting for a response. He worked another twenty minutes, wiping down the wood with a clean rag until it glowed. Then he cleaned out the gutters of the other lane and repeated the oiling process. The more he stalled, the angrier she got.

  She drummed the sole of her right foot on the floor. “You were the one who kissed me, you know.”

  “Yup. Liked it, too.”

  She got up and sat down on the floor next to where he was working. “I’m glad you did.” He kept his arm moving, just out of her reach. “PT, I care about you.”

  He wanted her, but he was wary. “I’ve been a loner for a long time, Gracie. I told you I wasn’t good at this.”

  They stayed there a few more minutes in silence.

  “Can we still jam together? Just share some music.”

  He nodded, looking back at her like a lost little boy.

  “Well then, I should go.”

  He flashed into a storm cloud. “Why are you always telling yourself what you should do? Do what you want to do for a change.”

  “What I want is to stay here, but you don’t want me to. I’ll see you in the staff lounge sometime,” she said, not looking back as she left.

  ****

  Rosa cheered her up. She told stories about opera and kept Gracie’s mind off PT. At one time, she imagined them going on the road together, but now she knew that wouldn’t happen. Having no idea what her future held, she wished she could play a role in an opera so she could become someone other than herself for a while. Instead, she listened to Rosa’s experiences.

  “Now Caruso, there was a tenor.” The singer draped her hand dramatically across her heart. “His singing was virile. I could feel his whole body vibrate against mine when we were on stage singing a lovers’ duet. He was the king of Italian opera. Oh, yes, sometimes he overworked his acting, but his sound—it was like gold coming from his throat. He encouraged me and calmed me when I was nervous or disheartened. I have a big voice and the critics sometimes say I sacrifice quality of sound for volume. Caruso taught me to use the voice with which I have been endowed and pay no attention to them.”

  “When will you sing with him again?” Gracie asked.

  “Never. He died five years ago, in his late forties. What a loss.” Rosa sat down at her vanity concentrating on the view out her window. “Now we must move into the future, not dwell on the past.”

  She went to her closet and pulled out two gowns. “For my concert next week I would like to wear one of these for the first part of the program when I sing the lighter songs.” Rosa discussed the pros and cons of the dresses. “I have worn this cobalt organza for much of my tour this summer. The lightness is good in the heat, but I fear it is too tight, and will impede my breathing. No, I will wear the honey-colored one. It reminds me of sunshine, yes, like my days here at the Crestmont. Then in keeping with the new fashion on the recital stage in New York, I will change into Olivia’s creation during the intermission. When I return for the second half of the concert, the audience will sense a transition in the flavor of the music because of my attire.”

  Laying the golden gown down on the bed, Gracie said, “I don’t think it needs to be pressed.”

  “No, no, it is fine. My dear, I would appreciate it if you would assist me in dressing for Friday’s concert. I never seem to be able to relax. Perhaps you could talk to me and help me not to dwell on my stage fright. But I want to see you in a real dress the night of the concert, not this ‘thing’.” Miss Ponselle tweaked the collar of Gracie’s uniform.

  “I have a dress. I’ll wear my green braid slink.” She blushed, embarrassed that naming a dress must seem immature to such a great performer.

  “Do not be embarrassed. You must love your clothes if you name them. I put on a costume for a role. It helps me to become the character. We are alike. Clothes are part of our identity.”

  ****

  “She doesn’t eat?” Isaiah took off his chef’s hat and wiped his forehead on the sleeve of his white uniform.

  “Not before she sings a concert, no.” William rocked on his heels and waited for the burly man’s tirade to subside.

  “Mr. Woods, we’ve got lobsters and prime rib ordered.” He waved a large bowl under William’s nose. “Just take a whiff of this apricot stuffing for the roast duck. I’ve got French artichoke canapés and medallions of foie gras on toast points with a fancy watermelon sherbet punch for appetizers; caramelized onions, sautéed mushrooms, tomato aspic, green beans with hollandaise and my special poppy seed bread sticks. Sam’s making baked Alaska and steamed marmalade pudding with hard sauce for dessert.” Frustrated, Isaiah counted off each menu item on his fingers. “The dinner is going to cost, boss. Sid okayed all the requisitions, but without Miss Ponselle there… Do you want me to tinker with the menu?”

  “Your menu sounds brilliant. Don’t alter a thing. We’ve advertized well and have many reservations from people in Eagles Mere and the surrounding area. We will treat everyone to an extravagant dinner and a fabulous concert afterward.”

  As Isaiah calmed down, his sense of humor returned. “Well, the woman has to work up an appetite after all that singing. Do you think she’d fancy a nice cold sliced duck sandwich after she’s done?”

  “I’d say, add the tomato aspic and foie gras with some fresh fruit and she should be very happy. And put doilies and flowers on the tray. Miss Ponselle has been a lovely guest. I want her to remember her stay with fondness.”

  ****

  Gracie had never felt so important. Rosa insisted on her help with preparations for the Thursday rehearsal and on keeping her company in the evening. Arrangements had been made for Peg to be Mrs. Cunningham’s companion that day.

  The opera singer requested a green room where she could focus and dress before the concert and during intermission. Mrs. Woods unlocked an unused room arranged like a small parlor near the landing on the first sleeping floor and handed the key to Gracie. “My father’s old office,” she said proudly. I’ve never had the heart to make it over into a guest room. You see, it is just a few steps from the main staircase where Miss Ponselle will make her entrance.”

  Rosa and Gracie sat there Thursday evening, eagerly awaiting Olivia. She was to deliver the gown after the final hemming.

  “Not every role is equally dear to a singer’s heart,” the singer chattered nervously. “One must modulate the voice to suit the composer’s intent and the character’s emotions. To sing Leonora in Il Trovatore, I must lighten to execute the trills, but never forget the depth of her character and convey that in the sound I produce. I try to both dwell in the character’s mind and sing her through my heart. I love the opera—not so much the treacherous arias, but the lavish music and plot.”

  Gracie asked about the opera’s story, sensing that the more Rosa talked, the more she would relax so she would sleep well the night before the concert.

  “Leonora and Manrico are lovers. Manrico’s e
nemy, Di Luna, threatens to kill him unless Leonora promises herself to him. Leonora is cunning and self-sacrificing. She loves Manrico and would do anything to save his life, but she respects herself too much to do this terrible thing. Before Di Luna can possess her, she drinks poison from a ring she has procured from an apothecary. The orchestration is very dramatic here. The music ascends as she lies dying in Marico’s arms, and as my voice goes up and up, I feel I am no longer on stage but in some other world.”

  Olivia tapped on the green room door an hour before the concert. After the opera singer dressed, she sent Gracie and Olivia to wait below in the lobby so they could see the full effect. Rosa Ponselle stopped on the first landing in front of the mirror that stretched from floor to ceiling. She swished the silk fabric and practiced a low opera bow, then turned to them, extending the cape as far to the side as her arm could reach.

  “It is more than I dreamed of. Shall we call it ‘The Ponselle’?”

  ****

  Because of the number of guest inquiries and flurry of telephone calls from Eagles Mere residents, the Woods moved the concert from the West Lounge into the largest space possible. Miss Ponselle had concurred, waiving the necessity of calling her agent for approval. Chairs were set up in the lobby, in the hallway near the Woods’ offices, and outside on the front and back porches. Overflow seating was in the Ladies Lounge where the sound would carry well through the open French doors. The Woods had given no one preference, but rather announced seats could be obtained on a first-come, first-serve basis. The piano was moved close to the east wing hall.

  The audience filtered in, raving about the elaborate dinner served at the Crestmont table. Men turned out in tuxedos. Women wore formal gowns and cloche hats decorated with feathers, or ribbons wound around their hair secured behind one ear with elaborate pins.

  After helping to put the final touches on the singer’s appearance, Gracie went from the green room down the back stairs and found a seat near the rear so she could easily slip out to help with the gown switch at intermission. No sooner had she sat down than she saw a strong hand grip the back of the chair next to her. “Would you mind if I sit here?” She barely had a moment to consider when Eric Sturdy sat down next to her.

  On Friday, July 30th, William Woods, looking classy in formal wear, stood in the crook of the grand piano. He punctuated his eloquent welcome and introduction with a dramatic gesture toward the landing. A hush spread over the audience as Miss Ponselle’s tiny feet descended the center staircase. Her honey-colored gown glowed from the light of the huge chandelier. She met her accompanist at the grand piano and they bowed deeply, accepting the welcoming applause.

  The Stephen Foster songs were easy on Gracie’s ears. Her cares and worries dropped away. In the Schubert section that followed, Gracie seemed to understand the words even though she didn’t speak German, because of the ever changing expressions on Rosa’s face.

  After intermission, the experience was transformed. A woman in the front row shouted “Brava” when the singer returned in The Ponselle, prompting numerous other cries of acclamation. Miss Ponselle sang the opera arias she loved. Her sound was so powerful and resonant that a pulsation vibrated against Gracie’s eardrums. The depth of the music communicated warmth that stroked her heart like soft velvet. Gracie searched the audience. When she saw Mrs. Woods, her eyes were closed and her face was peaceful as if she were lifted out of herself.

  After the final vibrant high note of the encore subsided, the audience leapt to their feet in thunderous applause. Gracie pulled herself up from the back of her neck to better see her friend bowing next to the piano.

  “You carry yourself differently,” Eric noticed.

  “Just a little trick Miss Ponselle taught me.”

  “May I walk you back to your dorm?”

  “I have to help Miss Ponselle. I’ve been a kind of companion to her since she arrived.”

  “I’m sure you have been a kind companion to her. Another time, then?”

  Gracie nodded. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed PT. He scowled at her and stalked off down the back stairs.

  III

  Gracie overslept the morning after the concert. When she woke, she scrambled to get dressed so she could say goodbye to Rosa. The sound of a vacuuming machine coming from the end of the east wing gave her a bad feeling.

  “Yer bosom buddy checked out,” Bessie said, leaving Rosa’s room with her cleaning supplies in hand.

  Crestfallen, Gracie found Mrs. Woods at the checkout desk, surrounded by guests. Awaiting her turn, she nervously shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Mrs. Woods gave her a pained look as the last guest lingered, recounting a story about her husband’s croquette match. Finally, they were alone.

  “Unfortunately for you, Gracie, Miss Ponselle’s driver arrived early this morning. She has a concert in Pittsburgh tomorrow and wanted to get on the road early.” Mrs. Woods pulled out a parcel wrapped in brown paper from under the desk. A letter was attached. “She left this for you.”

  Dearest Gracie,

  You were most gracious to me during my stay at the Crestmont. I leave you this token of my appreciation. I enjoyed teaching you a bit about singing. Remember you will touch people the most when you sing what is meaningful to you.

  Affectionately,

  Rosa Ponselle

  Gracie gave Mrs. Woods the note to read and carefully opened the package. Her hand flew to her throat when she saw light teal silk.

  “Oh, Mrs. Woods, I can’t accept this.”

  “Of course you can. She obviously wanted you to have it.” Mrs. Woods rested her elbows on the desk gazing at the empty lobby. “Everyone’s checked out. Try it on. Go ahead; you can use the green room.” Mrs. Woods handed her the key.

  “Will you stay here to see me in it?”

  Mrs. Woods nodded eagerly.

  Five minutes later Gracie appeared, dressed in The Ponselle. She held her head high as she had been taught and descended the staircase, trying to imitate Rosa’s light step. She stopped halfway, sweeping the cape around to the front so Mrs. Woods would get the whole effect.

  “You are beautiful, Gracie.” Dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief, she excused herself to her office.

  Gracie lifted up the three tiered skirt so she wouldn’t trip and mounted the stairs to the first floor landing. Pausing in front of the floor-length mirror, she practiced a curtsy as she had seen the opera singer do. Something shifted inside of her. The old nervousness was less. It seemed the only person she needed to please was herself.

  ****

  “Nothing like a cigar and baseball to clear the mind,” William said as he and Mr. Swett sent relaxed puffs of smoke into the evening air. Some children had made a makeshift court on the back lawn and cheered on a skinny boy of about ten who flailed his arms as he ran the bases. Swett gave William the low-down on the Saratoga horse races, then switched topics to tennis. William welcomed the sizable donation Swett offered for the construction of the tennis courts. It was all taken care of, but a little cushion wouldn’t hurt. “Well, old sport, if you will excuse me, I need to go find my man, PT, and discuss some business.”

  The Eagles Mere Hotel Association had discussed valet service at their last meeting. Most hotels in town were going for it. In addition, The Raymond and Edgemere Inns planned to revamp their entire tipping system, inflating the guests’ fees to include all gratuities. Concluding that implementing such a thing at the Crestmont would discourage the staff from applying themselves to superior service, William decided against it.

  When he found PT, he explained the new valet parking idea as they walked together down the drive toward the Evergreen Lodge. PT would be the boss, with Otto and Hank assisting. The parking lot would be extended farther away from the big house. What William did not share was that this was part of his plan to make room for the tennis courts. Then he switched to other matters of importance. The Lakeside had won the baseball championship in the hotel league last year and had their t
rophy prominently on display at the Association meeting.

  He was interrupted by Peg’s call from the Crestmont porch. She waved and ran down the lawn to join them.

  “Baseball’s not my game, sir.”

  “I know you’ve got a good arm, PT, because I have seen all those strikes you throw in the alley. I’ll coach you. You would just be a backup pitcher. You probably won’t even have to play. Picture that gold trophy on the welcome desk!”

  He opened his arms to hug his daughter. “PT, I’d like to introduce my new water activities assistant.”

  “PT and I have met probably 287 times over the years. Papa, we need more life jackets. Many of the ladies won’t sit on the floating dock without them. May I ask Mr. Fox to requisition them?”

  “Requisition. Did you hear her? She’s talking administrative language already.”

  PT chuckled and said, “Anything else, Mr. Woods?”

  “No, but give it some thought. The Crestmont Baseball Team needs you.” William slapped him on the back and PT headed off.

  “Papa, he doesn’t want to play baseball. He’s been waiting for you to ask him to play a concert.”

  “Well, yes, I did mention the possibility to him last year. I’ll mull it over. But that jazz he plays, I don’t know. I understand some people actually consider it to be real music.”

  “Papa, you were the one who said exploring new options around here was a high priority.” She linked her arm playfully in his.

  ****

  Gracie couldn’t wait to tell someone about The Ponselle. She found Dorothy in the kitchen, unlocking her silverware drawer.

  “I was nearly out of my mind having to miss her concert to chop ice for that reception punch, but I still heard her through three doors. What a voice.” Carefully placing the silverware in a basket, she crooked her arm under the handle and carried it into the dining room. “She left you her gown?”