Five Brides (18 page)

“Been what, dear?”

She took another breath. “Lutheran.”

Evelyn was in a near panic, what with Valentine’s Day only a week away. While Betty had promised the month before to help with her hair and cosmetics, so far they hadn’t been able to adjust their schedules. Still, determination forced her from her bedroom and across the hall to Betty’s. Otherwise she knew she wouldn’t sleep.

She tapped on the door. After hearing Betty’s faint “Come in,” she cracked the door and stuck her head in. “Got a minute?”

Betty, who wore red satiny pajamas, sat propped up in bed, under a mound of thick blankets and quilts, reading a book. “Sure.” She closed the book and placed it on the bed beside her, then threw back the covers on the other side. “Come on in. It’s cold.”

Evelyn shivered as she clutched her own arms and scurried across the room, her slippers shuffling over the hardwood floor and throw rugs. When she had made herself comfortable next to Betty, she turned her face toward her. “I declare, you and I spend more time alone in our bedrooms than with our roommates.”

Betty smiled broadly, bringing light to an already-beautiful face, which reminded Evelyn why she’d crossed the hall in the first place. “Betty, you said you’d help me with my hair. Can you—
will
you—tell me the
best
place to go to have my hair styled?”

Betty looked at her almost sympathetically. “That would be the Bobby Pin over on North State near Randolph. I’ve gone there since moving to the city.”

“Is it expensive?”

Betty sighed deeply. “Very.” Then she smiled again, this time briefly. “But let me put in a call for you. I think I can pull a few strings.”

Evelyn twisted in the bed to see her roommate better. “Can you?”

“Sure.”

“Oh, Betty, that would be wonder—” She stopped at the sound of the front door opening, then closing with a quiet click. “That’s probably Magda.”

Betty looked at her bedside clock, then showed its face to Evelyn. “Nine o’clock. Looks like her date with the writer ended early tonight.”

Evelyn shook her head. “According to Magda, they aren’t
dating
. She told me he’s only helping her with her writing, and sometimes he helps her choose manuscripts from what she calls a slush pile.”

Betty chuckled. “I have no idea what that is, but it sounds awful, like something that piles up on the sidewalks of Chicago in February and March.”

Evelyn laughed with her, then said, “One more thing, Betty, if you don’t mind. George . . .” She paused, still uncomfortable talking about him with Betty.

But Betty took it in stride. “Go on. George . . . ?”

“George wanted me to ask you about going to David & DuRand to see some cosmetics clerk. He says if I insist on wearing glasses I should learn how to wear eye makeup.”

Betty scoffed. “Oh, he did, did he? Now, why do you think George didn’t have you ask
Joan
about that?”

Evelyn slid back until she was flush against the upturned pillows. “I don’t know,” she mumbled, fiddling with her torn cuticles. “I guess because he knows you.”

Betty patted the covers over Evelyn’s leg. “Listen up, hon. I’ve known George for a long time and I’m telling you, no matter what he’s said, I still don’t trust him.”

Evelyn kept her face down. “But he’s been real nice, Betts. And he’s teaching me things I would have never known about had I not met him.” She sounded pathetic, even to her own hearing.

“Evelyn, look at me.” She did. “Is he
really
? Nice, I mean. Does he treat you like you deserve to be treated?”

“Sometimes . . . sometimes he gets a little short with me, but I think that’s only because I’m not a fast learner.”

“I beg to differ. I’ve seen you at work. You’re smart. You’re a quick learner. A capable student.”

“Me?” Evelyn laughed.

Betty poked her in the arm. “Yes, you. You deserve—you
deserve
to be
loved
, Evelyn. Not for the person your boyfriend is trying to make you into, but for who you
are
. Without the hairdo and the cosmetics and the fancy-schmancy ways.”

Evelyn’s chin shot up. “That’s easier to say when you’re already beautiful and adept at the finer things in life . . . like . . . like proper etiquette.”

Betty shook her head. “Touché. I’ll call the Bobby Pin for you tomorrow. You talk to Joan when she comes home—which should be any minute—about where to go at D&D.” She smiled weakly. “Should I assume you and George have a date for Valentine’s?”

Evelyn nodded.

“Well, then. When we are done with you, you’ll have him eating out of your hand.”

“Thanks, Betts,” she said, turning toward the door, hoping
Betty didn’t see her frown. She didn’t want George eating out of her hand. She only wanted him to be proud of her. To want her more than he ever wanted—or still wanted—Betty.

And she wanted him to kiss her, even if only once.

Because, she knew, one kiss from George Volbrecht would be more than enough to last her a lifetime.

Betty stood under the platform awning next to Joan. Nearby, Evelyn and Magda carried on a quiet conversation, no doubt discussing their plans for the great lovers’ holiday coming up the following week. She nudged Joan with her elbow. “Advice for the lovelorn?”

“What?” Joan asked. She wore her usual coat, gloves, and hat, her arms crossed over her small frame against the cold. “Oh. You mean . . . you?”

“I mean us.”

“Us? I’m not looking for love, Betty.”

“Me either.” She waved her gloved hand as if she were swatting at an insect. “Well, not anytime soon. But let’s face it: you and I are the only two in the apartment without sweethearts for the fourteenth. Want to go out on the town with me?”

Joan narrowed her eyes in contemplation. “What about Inga?”

“Inga has a certain someone out in Los Angeles. I’m sure she’ll be with him if her schedule allows.”

Joan tilted her head toward Betty. “Really? Are you sure? I mean, about the beau.”

“I’d be willing to bet a month’s salary. Wait. I take that back. These days I can’t afford to bet a month’s salary.”

“What do you mean?”

Both women turned toward the sound of the train screeching
along the tracks. “Train’s here,” Betty said. “And what I mean is, my parents have cut me off.”

“Your allowance, you mean?”

“You knew?” The train halted in front of them with a piercing cry and exhausted cough.

Joan’s eyes widened and she dipped her chin. “Evelyn.”

“Oh, sure. And she heard from George. How quickly I forget.”

The doors opened. “What are you going to do?” Joan asked over her shoulder as they stepped onto the train.

Betty waited until they had settled to answer. “I’m going to learn to live without new dresses and shoes and perfumes and all the other little luxuries I’ve had my whole life.”

Joan laughed. “Welcome to my world, Betts.” She looked out the window as the train pulled away from the station, then turned back and said, “Of course, I’ve never had it to know what it feels like to lose it. In fact, I can’t imagine, quite honestly.”

Betty shrugged. “Well, Joan, I suppose we’re about to find out just how strong and independent I really am, aren’t we?”

As soon as Betty arrived in her office and had performed the daily preliminaries, she tapped on the opaque window of Mr. Ferguson’s door.

“Come in, Miss Estes,” he said.

She opened the door only enough to stick her head in. “Mr. Ferguson, I need to make a short personal phone call. Would now be a good time or do you need me for anything?”

He looked around his desk as if waiting for something to pop up from the paperwork scattered here and there. “I think it’s all good here.” He looked at her more directly. “Is everything okay?”

“It is. I only need to make a call before the day gets too busy.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Mr. Ferguson.” She closed the door and returned to her desk, picked up the handset of the phone, and dialed an outside operator. A minute later, she heard the voice she’d hoped would answer at the Bobby Pin.

“Bobby,” she said. “Betty Estes.”

“Hello, beautiful lady. What can I do for you today? Cut? Perm?”

“No,” she chuckled. “Not today. Look. No questions, you hear?”

“Sounds ominous.”

“Remember my mink coat? The one you practically frothed over?”

“My wife would love that coat,” he said, keeping his voice low.

“She must be nearby.”

He answered with a laugh.

“I need to sell it, Bobby.” Pain shot through her chest. A twinge really, but she felt it nonetheless. “I’ve only worn it a handful of times and I still have the paperwork on it, of course. The box it came in.”

“How much?”

She gave him the price a furrier had told her would be fair. “Plus,” she added quickly, “I have a friend I want you to give the full treatment. Hair, nails, facial.”

Bobby didn’t answer right away. Then, “When can you have it to me?” he whispered. “Marigold’s birthday is next month.”

“I can meet you on Saturday. Just name the time and place.”

“Done,” he said. “I’ll call you later with details. What’s your friend’s name?”

“Evelyn Alexander.”

“Next week is crazy, what with Valentine’s Day.”

“How about Monday afternoon? After five?”

Betty heard the phone drop away from Bobby’s chin. “Mari,”
he called out to his wife, “what openings do we have after five on Monday?” Marigold’s soft, muffled voice spoke from a short distance away. Then, “Tell her to be here at five thirty. If she’s late, I can’t see her.”

“She’ll be there,” Betty said with a smile. She started to hang up, then brought the phone back to her ear. “And Bobby?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

“Thank
you
, doll. You just saved me a bundle.”

Inga couldn’t believe her luck. Valentine’s Day and she had a layover in Los Angeles.

As soon as she got her schedule, she called Frank to let him know. He stalled at first, probably from pure shock, then recovered with, “I’m going to wine and dine you like you’ve never been wined and dined before, baby.”

She felt her entire body grow warm, especially at his British clip on the endearment “baby.”