A Moment Forever

by Cat Gardiner

  The platinum blonde siren, sunning on the diving board, sat up and waved hello in Lizzy’s direction. “Yoo hoo. Lizzy, over here.”

  She prepared herself for Greta Robertsen and her new word, “beguiling,” sure to be inserted into every sentence spoken. “Oh, what a darling swimsuit. That floral print is simply beguiling. Wherever did you find it?”

  As much as Lizzy had determined to go sit beside William, John, Lillian, and Louie, who seemed to be having a good time, it was obvious that Greta, who never talked with her, had ulterior motives, and the wicked creature in Lizzy couldn’t resist the opportunity to toy with her. She ignored Greta’s inquiry about the swimsuit because she had seen it at least four times prior and knew it was just a ploy to get her to come over.

  “Hi, Greta. I didn’t think you would attend the party. Johnny said you were out boating with Dickie Phipps.”

  “Forget Dickie. He’s business, dahling. Robertsen Aviation needs his father’s connection to steel and U.S Steel needs our airplanes. We’re planning to announce an engagement shortly. Now, who is that GI Joe sitting beside my brother? The tall one with that beguiling wave to his hair and let’s not overlook those impressive pilot wings. A girl could get lost in those strong arms.”

  Lizzy didn’t need to look. She knew to whom her arch nemesis referred, but she turned anyway, especially upon hearing Flyboy’s deep laughter at something John said. She’d embrace any and all opportunities to observe the dimples and cleft chin on the unexpected six foot two, distraction who showed up at her mother’s fundraiser. Earlier, Lizzy had admired how his smile and playful teasing were delightfully expressed in his chestnut, bedroom eyes. For once, Greta is right. Lieutenant Martel is beguiling.

  Turning to gaze at the object of Greta’s inquiry, she noticed how Gloria preened as she sashayed up to William. It surprisingly affected Lizzy to witness how he graciously tolerated their unfolding conversation as well as her sister’s playful donning of his service cap. While she wouldn’t admit to outright jealousy, she did feel somewhat competitive toward gaining his attention … away from her least favorite sister.

  At only sixteen, Gloria acted as if she had already come out. Apparently, Miss Chapin’s private school in Manhattan was having a difficult time curtailing the adolescent’s salacious behavior.

  Lizzy hadn’t realized that she mused long enough for Greta to notice.

  “Don’t tell me you’re interested in him, too? Who is he, dahling? He’s just beguiling.”

  Yes he is. “Oh, him? You know I don’t go with ‘uniforms’. He’s just one of Lillian’s friends, definitely not my style nor wealthy enough to tempt me and positively not your type. He and his brother are from Brooklyn.”

  Greta’s disdain-filled repeat of “Brooklyn!” drew unnoticed attention.

  Lizzy grinned mischievously. “Yes, and I think their father works as a shoe shine in Grand Central Terminal, and his mother sells fruit from a push cart on Canal Street. Maybe she’s a fish monger … I can’t remember … Oh, and they’re Catholics, too.”

  She covered the devious smile upon her lips with her fingers.

  Reacting and sounding more and more like her best friend Ingrid, Greta gasped. “And your father let them pollute the shades of Meercrest? Your sister, Lillian, with her unorthodox behavior and undesirably common acquaintances is an embarrassment to the Social Register. Next she’ll be consorting with Jews.”

  Lizzy knit her brows. “Jews? There’s nothing wrong with Jews. You’re nuts, Greta! I have associated with them on a few occasions. When I visited with the de Rothschilds in Paris, I found them to be perfectly acceptable people. Their home, Château de Ferrières was larger than yours and they served caviar, pate, and canapés. You never serve that.” Lizzy shook her head, laughed, and rose from the edge of the diving board. She glanced over at Ingrid who sat under an oversized white hat below an umbrella. G-d forbid her lily-white complexion tanned.

  The distasteful curl to her sister’s pale lips accentuated the cold, deadly venom of her words as Lizzy approached. Ingrid held her cigarette aloft with an air of superiority, punctuating her statement. “She’s right you know. They use the blood of Christian children for rituals. I even hear they have horns hidden under their wigs and hats.”

  Lizzy jutted her chin. “You’re wacky, too! Bethsabee de Rothschild didn’t wear a wig and certainly didn’t have horns nor did she drain my blood when I was invited to tea with her during my grand tour two years ago.” She rolled her eyes. “She’s a cultured patron of the arts, Ingrid. You should have seen the Rembrandt and Cézanne artwork, and when Esther Frazier recommended a séance, Bethsabee was positively aghast at the idea. Rituals? Please don’t make me laugh at the absurdity.”

  Ingrid shrugged one shoulder while looking at her fingernails. “The French Jews must be different from the German ones, but in my book the de Rothschilds are no different from the Guggenheims—Jews are Jews. You’d have to live under a rock not to see how they conduct business, selling cheap goods, undermining honest German merchants and ultimately affecting the German worker through inferior wages.”

  “Ingrid, you never even met Bethsabee, and this is Glen Cove not the Fatherland for Heaven’s sake. Even though grandfather was born in Munich, I hardly feel affected or concerned by the plight of the German factory worker. What you say is completely untrue. You have been spending too much time listening to Father’s lawyer, that creep, George Gebhardt.”

  Ingrid leaned back onto the chaise and closed her eyes. “You’re so naïve, Lizzy. One day, you’ll wake up from your sheltered party life and your eyes will open with a shock. Your world won’t be so happy when the Juden scheiss take over everything our family has worked for and you’re thrown into the hedgerow, forced to live in the servant’s cottage with Mrs. Davis.” She opened her eyes and laughed to see her sister’s annoyed expression. “Wouldn’t that be a conundrum—living with a Negro over a Jew? Both Unzuverlässige Elemente.”

  “You know I don’t understand the German language, but judging from your tone, I don’t think I want to. You really need to get over yourself and these vulgar opinions of …”

  Renner clapped his hands, breaking up the sisters’ difference of opinion when he emerged from the pool house, wearing his ill-fitting swim trunks. Ill-fitting because even Lizzy had to admit, no man his size or age should be caught dead wearing a white swimsuit, but he was king of his castle and he could do and say whatever he wanted.

  “Teams, take your places,” he ordered, ready to railroad over Robertsen’s inferior warbirds.

  The afternoon’s swim match represented titan against titan—two men whose combined net worth rivaled that of the Rothschild family’s worldwide assets. Like their daughters, Lizzy and Greta, Renner and Robertsen were amicable enemies. Their estates shared an eastern property line; what separated their estates was not only the stone wall built in 1882, but also the fact that the Robertsens’ wealth was not inherited. Their considerable assets were amassed rather recently, the result of honest-to-goodness hard work through the fortunate growth of the aviation business. Everything Robertsen represented, apart from his politics, annoyed Renner and with President Roosevelt’s slogan “Arsenal for Democracy” on the heels of 1941’s passage of the “Lend-Lease Act,” the Robertsen fortune was growing right before Renner’s blue-blood eyes.

  A lifelong affliction of not-so insignificant asthma was a carefully guarded Robertsen family secret that kept John poolside beside Louie and Will rather than competing in the race.

  Ingrid, Lizzy, Gloria, and Renner stood at the edge of the pool alternated by Robertsen, Greta, Susanna, and Hearst. The women slid their white bathing caps over their heads, a soon-to-be luxury item they were oblivious to, since the war effort had now put a moratorium on rubber. With a snap of the edge, elastic met skin, concealing their intricate hairstyles and Lizzy’s obvious difference as the only dark-haired participant of the eight.

  The high, hot sun wasn’t the only thing warming he
r skin; she looked up to find William’s eyes on her. When their eyes met, she smiled. He returned the gesture with his own, complete with a dimple that made her heart flutter.

  Like everyone standing on the edge of the pool with their toes hanging off, Lizzy took a deep breath, readying herself for the race. She bent, anticipating her father’s friend Gebhardt and his shout of “go!” In that brief moment of waiting, she was sad to see William rise from his seat and turn his back on her. He was no longer watching, and she felt a stab of disappointment at not being able to impress him with her athleticism. That was until she observed him pour a glass of lemonade and bring it to her sister Kitty sitting in the shade of the pool house’s awning.

  That was all she needed to see. She grinned just as Gebhardt shouted, and she pushed off the edge of the pool.

  ~~*~~

  The martini sloshed from the rim of Frances Renner’s glass when she held it high to make a toast to her husband at the other side of the opulently decorated dinner table. Her drunken baby-like voice carried across the evening air at dusk as they dined alfresco under the open tent.

  “To Frederick for his recent acquishition of the Edgar Degasssh ballet danshers now hanging in the *hiccup* library. I love to dansh and would have be a great profishient worthy of a portrait, too!”

  Gloria giggled at her mother’s repetitive hiccups interrupting her slurred string of words. Renner’s steel blue eyes bore into his drunken wife’s amber ones, sparkling more from the alcohol than the lanterns swinging above their heads or the two towering candelabras between the husband and wife.

  “How ever did you accomplish it, Renner?” Robertsen asked.

  “Connections that even you don’t have Robertsen.”

  “Yes, I imagine a man of your age has acquired a great many connections throughout the years.”

  “Age has nothing to do with it, my friend. It’s experience, knowledge and a respect brought about by two generations of dealing with men of my societal circle. Something your millions have yet to attain in your relatively short time living on the Gold Coast. We have built a legacy whereas you are still a fledgling.”

  From across the table, Will watched as a placid smile spread across George Gebhardt’s lips. He obviously enjoyed the grandstanding and animosity between the neighbors. The man got under his skin. Each time he lifted his fork to those sneering lips of his, he couldn’t dismiss his growing dislike.

  He glanced at Lizzy sitting beside Gebhardt, and noted how she watched the man from the corner of her eye. If his elbow crossed the space separating their table settings, she inched closer to John on her other side. However, never once did she act dismayed or affected by his obvious attempts. Gebhardt’s efforts to touch her further rankled Will as he surprisingly felt attuned to her discomfort in spite of her playing it off with grace.

  To some measure, Will could understand Gebhardt’s subtle trespasses into Lizzy’s personal space. She was, in fact, an alluring woman, and he would have no doubt found himself tempted to do the same thing if seated beside her. Her cinnamon colored, silk dinner dress complemented her dark curls and captivating, light-green eyes perfectly. The delightful lilt to her voice and playful manner was enough to drive any hot-blooded man crazy, and he could currently attest to that acutely. She was driving him dizzy.

  The corner of Will’s mouth twitched in a thoughtful smile when he looked across the table at her beautiful upturned face while she chewed the roast duckling. Every slow, deliberate movement of her jaw spellbound him and, at that moment, he was glad he allowed Louie’s insistence to stay for dinner.

  Following the swimming match, Will was determined to leave for home. Convinced that there was nothing or no one for him at Meercrest, he had pulled Louie aside and begged him to leave. He had overheard the poolside conversation between the sisters and determined that in addition to this high society affluence, hobnobbing with an anti-Semitic family wasn’t where he wanted to spend his day. However, Louie refused to leave, and, well, since he was departing in three days for Norfork, how could Will object to his brother’s pleas? He saw the way Louie flirted and hung on every word of Lillian’s and that lightened his heart considerably.

  Lillian was obviously not of the same ilk as Ingrid and now faced with the intoxicating, spirited cookie before him, he wondered what sort of girl Lizzy was at her core. What did she believe? What were her ideals and values? Was she truly ignorant about how many in the world negatively viewed Jews and others?

  She caught Will’s stare and playfully asked, “Are you not enjoying your meal, Lieutenant? You haven’t touched your duck.”

  “I’m enjoying it very much. Thank you. I find my attention diverted, though.”

  “Hmm … I hope toward something more to your liking.” Another playful grin appeared on those kissable lips of hers, then Lizzy popped a piece of boiled potato into her mouth.

  Will looked down at his dinner plate, wondering if she could see the smile upon his face. He couldn’t help it until his brother kneed him under the table, which startled him from the most pleasant thought of devouring her sugar sweet lips instead of the bland duck.

  He glanced up, his gaze settling on his host, their eyes locked. A barely perceptible sneer crossed Renner’s mouth, along with a cold look in his eyes. A chill ran up Will’s spine. He looked to Gloria sitting beside him, her chin resting in her palm, elbow on the table as she stared at him unabashedly.

  No, this world—these people—and Miss Elizabeth Renner were only playing with him. Most likely, this society dame was just a terrible flirt like her sister, Gloria.

  The rivalry between Robertsen and Renner continued to heat up at the end of the table. As expected by almost everyone, the competition hadn’t ended poolside with the Renner victory. In fact, it seemed to grow and now had rolled into business cock fighting until Frances interrupted the twenty-five guests, some of whom were vastly entertained by the cordial duel of arguments and insults parried with backhanded compliments.

  “So tell me, Shargeant, what type of name is Martel? *hiccup* Is it in the Shoshial Registrrr?”

  “I’m a Corporal, ma’am.” Louie replied. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you mean by type.”

  Will placed his fork at the edge of his dinner plate and wiped his lips with the linen napkin. “Its origins are French, Mrs. Renner. My grandfather came to America through Castle Garden in the 1880’s.”

  “Lizshy went to France! Didn’t you, Lizshy?”

  “Yes, Mother.” She looked at Will and Louie to elaborate. “I went on grand tour in March of ’40 just following my debut. We toured Paris, Bavaria, and London, but I never had the chance to see Italy. I regret never visiting the Sistine Chapel in Rome or skimming Venice’s Grand Canal in a gondola, but after the war, I can always go back to Europe.”

  “That sounds like it was quite an ambitious, exciting itinerary,” Louie stated.

  “Oh, it was! Father felt that those countries would be good to see before the economic growth and influence of the new Germany changed them in the future.” She laughed as did several others, but Louie and Will didn’t.

  “I’d say they changed it,” Will replied coldly.

  Renner raised his arm to garner everyone’s attention. “You are correct, young man.” He looked so authoritative and refined wearing his white dinner jacket. “One cannot deny the transformation of Germany under the Third Reich. The Great War decimated my father’s homeland, breaking it apart, reparations that plunged them into poverty, unemployment, and hyperinflation of their currency. Now, they are experiencing prosperity and a sense of nationality like never before. It was a natural choice—Bolshevism or National Socialism. The people spoke overwhelmingly.”

  His continually raised arm in punctuation of his points looked odd to Will. “So you are saying you believe in National Socialism, sir?”

  Louie elbowed his brother in the ribs when he posed the question.

  “What I am saying is that I believe in Germany’s strength and r
ight to restore itself back to the nation it once was. Give back to the people a country they can be proud of, and America should keep out of it. There is no need for us to be involved in this war. Lindbergh has the right of it. ‘We can have peace and security only so long as we band together to preserve that most priceless possession, our inheritance of European blood’.”

  “And what of the rights of its European citizens who do not meet the Führer’s ideal? Do you think they are proud of what National Socialism is denying them under this new Germany?” Will took a sip of wine hoping to calm his rapid heartbeat while waiting for Renner’s reply. He noted how his host’s face grew red and his head shook slightly but how his smile never wavered.

  “If you mean those who ally themselves with the ideals of Bolshevism, then there is no place for them in Germany. Bolshevism is against expansion and private property and dangerous to national solidarity.”

  Will clenched his jaw as Renner spoke.

  The silence at the table was deafening. Half the guests found themselves in agreement with Renner and a handful in mute accord with the officer making a brave, challenging argument to his host.

  The Army pilot was ready to throw his napkin in disgust on the table and slide back his chair to depart but the subtle gesture of his brother’s clasping hand placed upon his forearm calmed his reaction. Instead, Will’s reply was respectful and democratic.

  “I respect that your views on Communism are valid, Mr. Renner, but what of those citizens subject to pogroms and to the Nuremberg Laws? Those whom Nazi Germany falsely accuses of the spread of Communism. Even Lindbergh acknowledged that Hitler is a fanatic, and now that the America First Committee is dissolved, he supports our involvement in the war. Surely, as a man whose family has helped to build the framework of America, you must see that National Socialism denies democracy, liberty, human rights … even capitalism. Do you think the people of Germany or the other nations he bullied into treaty are proud of Hitler’s plans for those particular citizens who find themselves victims of National Socialism’s radical doctrine?”