by Anne Fall
"All right. I'll go, but I don't want to. You can't make me want to." Ella smiled in satisfied delight.
"Good, I'll find something perfect for you to wear, too. You have to look like the model friend, show my parents how good I am. You will be good and help me, won't you?" Despite her demanding tone, Ella's eyes pleaded, and Sylvia could not refuse her.
"Of course I will."
During the morning and afternoon, Ella picked out almost matching dresses for them to wear. They were modestly designed with sweetheart necklines. Ella would wear blue, and Sylvia would wear yellow. Ella's parents arrived at Mrs. Overbrook's home around one o'clock, but immediately began their toilette for the wedding. It was all rushed, hurried. Ella, feeling more and more despondent, regarded their failure to greet her with something close to despair.
"It'll be all right. They probably just want to look their best to see you. Think how long we spent picking out our outfits."
"It's not me they're getting ready for, it's for everyone else. Appearances, Sylvia. There will be photographers." Ella shook out her long red curls and began pinning them up artfully.
"Photographers?" The comment bewildered Sylvia.
"Once again, Sylvia, it's a wedding. Have you never been to one? It's another reason we must look our best. I'm sure they're going to photograph us."
"Oh, no." The evening loomed evermore intimidating
"Oh, yes, Sylvia."
At three o'clock sharp, the two girls descended the staircase from Ella's room diffidently and into the parlor where the Overbrooks were having their cocktails. Sylvia stayed by Ella's side until her parents stood up in a storm of grey flannel and lavender linen.
"Ella, sweetheart!" Her mother exhaled the words and approached her quickly. The two women embraced, and it was clear that there was much love between the two of them. Ella, for her part, barely maintained the composure expected of a young girl happily greeting her parents. She laughed and wiped away several tears when the embrace broke.
"I've missed you." Her mother placed her hands on Ella's shoulders, holding tightly and looking her over with great scrutiny.
"You look beautiful! So grown up. A little too grown up. Heels already, Ella?" Sylvia stood taller in her own heels.
"I don't know, I thought they were stylish. I thought you'd like them." Ella's face fell.
"Betty, her shoes are fine. Come here." Ella approached the grey flannel expanse of her father with hesitation in her eyes. "You look lovely." He whispered the words in her ear low, so only Ella and Sylvia could hear them. Happiness settled back on Ella's face.
"Daddy." She smiled, brightly and simply.
"Now, now, there, there." Mrs. Overbrook, seated on a small loveseat with the signature plumage of some exotic bird in her hair, appeared to be the reigning queen in the status of the circle. "Leave some of him for me, Ella. He's my son. You haven't introduced Sylvia, either."
"Oh, excuse me. This is Sylvia Hinshaw. She is Mr. and Mrs. Fanning's niece. We've become good friends." Gracefully lowering her shoulders and nodding her head, Sylvia retained her straight posture and smiled benignly at the couple.
"How do you do?" Her voice came out properly, and she refused to recognize any reason for criticism in their regard of her.
"It's nice to meet any friend of Ella's." The young Mrs. Overbrook smiled at her.
"She's been the best friend to me. We've had such fun at the candy store and beaches. The honor of the friendship is all mine." Sylvia smiled innocuously, pleased with what she tried to convey.
"And are your parents here for the wedding as well? I think I met them a few years ago, in New York." The question was loaded, and Sylvia realized that Ella's mother had full knowledge of the divorce.
"Oh no, they're still at home, on the estate." Rather than using the word ‘farm’, Sylvia plucked a word from the air that these people would understand.
"Oh, how nice." The conversation turned after that, and Sylvia relaxed. It was exhausting, maintaining these daggers of conversation at the perfect sharpness.
They took separate cars, and Sylvia and Ella rode alone, free to speak to one another about the scene in the parlor.
"Oh, they hate me." Ella had found a cigarette in her purse and was puffing joylessly.
"No, they don't hate you. They love you, look how they greeted you." Pleading with her, Sylvia internally wondered at the oddness of their family.
"Who cares? Let's have a good time tonight." A spark burst in Ella's eyes, and Sylvia knew that Ella had decided to step out of her character as model daughter.
As they approached the beach, dread filled Sylvia's stomach. There was a large crowd of expensive cars in the parking lot. Ella, who had not changed her shoes, stepped out of the car first. She looked perfect. She knew her part, whether or not she decided to play it.
The heat was still stifling, and many of the guests stayed near the cars. Rather than comfort and pleasure being the goals, respectability was all that mattered. They were a sea of pastels and propriety.
Walking behind the adults, the two girls stayed close to one another but remained silent as introductions were made. Their role here was to be seen and not heard. They stood on the staircase down to the beach while Ella's mother and father paused ahead of them. Rather than moving to accommodate their descent, they were unconcerned and made them wait. Sylvia disliked the sensation.
"Excuse me, Mr. and Mrs. Overbrook, but I'd like to take Ella to greet my aunt." Her words surprised her, as did the hand she placed on Mrs. Overbrook's arm to get her attention.
"Of course, dear. Please." Mrs. Overbrook made way for the two girls, and Sylvia could feel Ella's delight as they passed through the crowd. She could just make out Vivian ahead.
"You are unbelievable! I never thought I would think you were the brave one."
"A lot has changed since June."
There were lines of white chairs with bows tied to their backs lined up around the aisle. Each side curved in a crescent shape to almost circle a focal arbor. It was covered with white hydrangeas and white roses. The wire frame of it appeared bowed with their weight. Guests slowly began to be seated.
Sylvia and Ella dashed over to Vivian and Adam. They were talking to another couple and laughing. Sylvia touched Vivian's arm.
"Why, there you are! I was wondering when you'd get here. I was afraid you'd be late, Sylvia."
"No, not late. There was just a crowd on the stairs…" Sylvia gestured behind her at the still descending people in hats and suits.
"It is crowded. It would have been easier if they had picked a beach without a staircase, but, what can you do?" Vivian raised her eyebrows and then smiled.
"Yes, you're absolutely right. We're going to sit down now. I'll see you in a bit, at the house?"
"Of course, run along and enjoy yourself."
The two girls sat in the back. Sylvia was unsure which side they were supposed to be on, and she decided it did not matter. Ella whispered to her about the dresses around them. The young Mrs. Overbrook turned over her shoulder to make sure the girls were seated and smiled faintly at them before turning back.
At the arbor, there were a priest and a man conferring. The man kept repeatedly looking at his watch and gesturing toward the lot. The wind was picking up, and Sylvia eyed the sky warily. There was no sign of a storm except the wind. Storms could arise so quickly here. Abruptly, the man at the front stopped gesturing and began waving in relief. Sylvia turned to see and nudged Ella to look as well.
Descending the grey staircase were four musicians, carrying instruments in cases. There were three small cases and then a larger instrument, a cello maybe. As they came down, people began to relax. Sylvia hadn't noticed, but there were four chairs off to the side. The musicians came slowly down with the cello first. Suddenly, the cellist slipped and grabbed the rail. The cello came crashing down the steps.
The crowd collectively gasped. There were shouts on the stairs. The cellist ran down the steps and unzipped the
case that was on the cello. From his posture and the height of the fall, Sylvia knew it was ruined. She and Ella turned and looked at each other, neither knowing what to say.
A handful of men went to help. The three musicians with the smaller instruments were led down to the beach, and the cellist was helped up the stairs, the broken instrument zipped back up in its case. The three musicians went to the chairs. The fourth chair was dragged away. It was over within minutes. Silence settled on the crowd. The three musicians began to play. Everyone assumed their position properly. As they played, the notes were whipped back and forth by the ocean wind. The cello would have made them clearer, stronger.
Women dressed in pale blue began coming down the staircase escorted by men in grey suits. The staircase wasn't quite wide enough for two people to walk together, and it was uncertainly done. People were on edge, holding their breath as the women descended. The duos paused on the stairs for a photographer below, smiling uncertainly. Soon, they were all down and standing around the arbor with the groomsmen on one side and the bridesmaids on the other. Finally, the bride came.
Her father walked with her, and she descended more gracefully. He took one step at a time in front of her, holding her hand. Almost fully down, her train snagged on the old wood of the staircase. He leaned around her and loosened it. As she walked by, Sylvia could see she was beautiful.
Most of the guests could not hear the service. The wind was up and the arbor trembled slightly but held. What they could see was the kiss, and there was uproarious applause. There was a great sense of relief it was over without more damage done. Once the bride and groom had managed the staircase, the guests began making their way cautiously, the chairs already being folded and stacked as if it never happened.
The reception was at a lovely house. It wasn't ostentatious, but it was tidy and large. The inside was peculiar, as the walls must have been removed to make the downstairs almost entirely one room. Pillars broke up the space, blocked the view. Cocktails were being served. There were the amber drinks, the bubbling clear drinks with lime and lemons, plump pops of maraschino cherries, spires of mint, and skewered olives.
The talk of the party was the cellist. The three other musicians were in a corner and playing softly. People eyed them as if they were in some way responsible. Conversations murmured high and low. Sylvia looked for Vivian and Adam and found them. They were standing with martini glasses in their hands near the musicians. Vivian seemed to be looking for someone. Sylvia caught her eye briefly, and she smiled before continuing her assessment of the room. There was no sign of Eric and Catherine.
Someone in black and white was putting bottles of wine on the tables and opening them. Each table had a bottle of red and a bottle of white. Without thinking clearly about what she was doing, Sylvia leaned over a table, admired the too-white centerpiece, and took a bottle of red wine. She cradled it against her chest like a baby, curving her shoulders around it. Nodding to Ella, they made their way out the back door.
It was claret, almost a rose in color. It tasted like communion wine with the scent of dried flowers. They drank directly from the bottle. Outside, there were people in the back setting up candles around an open grassy area. There were torches positioned in a broad rectangle, sectioning the area off for dancing. They smelled strongly, flammable. The people setting it all up wore black and white as well, and they seemed amused by the two girls tucked in a corner, drinking directly out of a bottle of wine. No one said a word to them but rather smiled.
"It must be about time for dinner." Ella said it with dread, and Sylvia echoed the sentiment.
"Do we have to go? I don't think they would even notice if we didn't."
"Oh, they'll notice." They each took a long swallow from the bottle, and then stood it up next to a wall. They might need it later. Ella moved like the clouds in the sky in her blue dress. Sylvia, in her yellow, looked like the sun. They were perfect, and the night belonged to them more than anyone else.
The door back inside creaked loudly with their entrance, and people turned to look. Everyone was being seated for dinner. The bride and groom were already at their table, and people lingered around them, offering small but happy words. Gazing into the crowd, Sylvia recognized the dark blur of Eric's face watching her. It startled her, but she did not meet his stare. She thought she would be sick.
"Are you okay? What's wrong?" Ella touched her shoulder, moved her physically along.
"He's here."
"Who's here?" Ella looked around them, but she did not see.
"Never mind. It doesn't matter." Sylvia straightened her posture, and her expression froze in place. It conveyed nothing. She had attained the neutral expression of detachment.
They found their seats. The place card holders were silver and polished to a brilliant sheen. Sylvia's name had been written in a different hand from the rest; she was an afterthought, as always. Seated next to Ella, she no longer minded. It was just another event in the endless parade of entertaining that had happened over the summer.
Vivian and Adam were seated closer to the bridal couple. Vivian looked stunning and completely different from her usual self. Tenseness circled her, an unusual apprehension that departed from her characteristic nervousness. Her face, while highlighted with peach rouge, was white as a sheet underneath the make-up. Something had happened, and Sylvia sat up straighter. She followed Vivian's eyes. She was staring intently at a man. It was the man from the greenhouse, two tables away from her. He watched Vivian in return. As Sylvia surveyed the scene, she could see that Vivian was pleading with him, begging him for something. The man simply kept her gaze, not looking at his plate or anyone else. Catherine and Eric were seated across from him. Sylvia was relieved that she would not have to sit across from them for the duration of the meal. Maybe she could avoid them.
The first course was brought into the dining room by four young women in matching clothing. Wine glasses filled with gazpacho soup were presented on long silver trays. The cold soup was topped with dollops of caviar and sour cream. The guests murmured their approval. Political conversations began leaping to their tongues. The men on Sylvia’s end of the table began passionately arguing about Eisenhower. They threw loaded words around like unconscionable and foreign policy. Sylvia listened to them, not understanding the topic clearly.
There were two photographers circling the perimeter of the room. They seemed rushed and tired. Their cameras were black and chrome, and they looked like guns in their hands. Sylvia hated having her picture taken. She always felt that something was being stolen from her.
After the soup, cold lobster followed on beds of greens. As it was being served, without sensing his approach, Eric stood behind Sylvia. She stiffened and dropped her napkin. He reached down to pick it up and put it back in her lap. Ella, conversing with the woman next to her about the local lighthouses, did not notice.
"I need to speak with you." Eric murmured, low into her ear.
"No." Her voice was too loud, and people turned to see who had spoken.
"Please." Despite the voyeur guests, he continued.
"No, I will not." Her firmness was certain. In the middle of that moment, a photographer stopped at their table.
"Smile, please!" The man waited for them to arrange themselves. Sylvia moved closer to Ella and smiled. Eric stood behind her, and she could not see his expression. The moment passed quickly, and Eric spoke again.
"If that's how you want it, Sylvia." She turned to see his departing figure looking exhausted. He looked bruised. She did not have long to reflect on it, because the woman across the table began speaking to her.
"You're Marie's daughter, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am."
"How opportune. You look just like her at your age. We used to be childhood friends. You can't imagine how strange it is, it's like she's sitting across from me at seventeen." Studying the woman's face, Sylvia saw that kindness lived there.
"I'm fourteen." The words sounded defensive, and Sylvia tempe
red them with a smile.
"Only fourteen? And such a beauty? Marie has been blessed." While the woman appeared to be sincere, Sylvia questioned her motives.
"I'm sorry, what was your name?"
"My name is Jane, Jane Whitmore."
"Shall I send her your regards when we talk again?"
"Oh, yes. Please do. Nothing would make me happier." The conversation ended there, and Sylvia leaned back in her seat, pushing food from one side of the plate to the other. She briefly met Ella’s eyes while the plates were being taken away. Ella had poured herself a glass of wine, decorum be damned. Sylvia followed suit. Ella's parents were seated further away, and they had not spoken to her since they had arrived at the reception. There was a sudden, booming voice. Sylvia turned to see.
"Stop looking at him!" The entire room hushed into sensational silence. Adam’s face was flushed a dangerous red, and his hands shook. In the moment and memory, they would all be reddened. The man from the greenhouse rose from his seat slowly. He took his napkin from his lap, painstakingly folding it before laying it down on the table in front of him. Sylvia noticed his hands, which, unlike Adam's, did not shake. When he lifted his face to meet Adam's, his eyes were clear and calm. Vivian began to stand up, but Adam's damning finger pointed to her.
"Vivian, sit back down."
"Adam, please, let's step outside and talk for a moment." The gleaming vicious gaze of the guests trembled with excitement, and adrenaline smelled like sweat around them.
"Sit back down!" Adam’s voice roared, and Sylvia could see that he no longer gave a damn.
"It's all right, Vivian. We'll go outside, won't we Adam?" The man finally spoke, and his voice was as unmoved as his eyes and hands.
"Don't you say her name! Don't you say it!" Adam moved around the table, closer. "You're damned right we'll take it outside." Adam turned and left the room with his footsteps pounding, and the quiet man followed him.
Everything happened at once. Vivian screamed in a shriek that sounded like the baby in Sylvia's dream. One of the maids dropped her tray and the dishes hit the wooden floor with a splintering sound. If she had not seen the girl drop the tray, Sylvia would have sworn it was Vivian's scream that broke the china. Several men stood up at tables, unsure what to do first. Women began talking all at once in high-pitched tones. Catherine went to Vivian and wet a napkin to wipe her face. Vivian's makeup ran underneath the water, and Sylvia cringed at the sight of her aunt losing all of her poise in one swift movement. She recovered within seconds and stood shakily.