The Hatmaker's Heart: A Novel (21 page)

The following week, a letter from her grandmother came, written in Jane Alistair’s beautiful script.

The newspaper clipping was yellowed and cracked along the fold. Nell could scarcely make out the faded print for the moistness in her eyes.

Once upon a time, Nell had recited this in front of the whole church. Without stammering. Was a runway show any different? She laughed. Yes. Her neck and her job were on the line.

Soren hadn’t gotten back to her to write the script yet, so as she spent long hours working on the hats, Nell formed the description in her mind for each of them. The words flowed like lengths of silk in her thoughts while doubts gnawed at the lining of her stomach.

She wrote her grandmother on Saturday and thanked her for the poem, then sealed the letter and took it to the letter box on the corner.

“Hey, Nellie March!” The shout came from up the street a ways, but only one person called her that. Nell turned and waved, then waited until Calvin caught up with her, Jeanette in tow. “I haven’t seen you around. I guess Oscar’s keeping you busy.”

“No more than usual. So what have you two been up to?”

Jeanette said, “I took Calvin to the dance studio to watch the ten-year-olds rehearse. I had to remind him to behave in front of the little girls. We don’t want to be putting ideas in their heads.” She had a glow about her that Nell was sure came from being in love.

Calvin pulled Jeanette into the crook of his arm and kissed her lightly on the temple. “We’re not in the studio now.”

Nell fell in stride with them as Jeanette prattled on about the newest dance steps her students had mastered and their upcoming recital. “You two should try and come. Two weeks from today. On the twenty-first.”

“I’d love to, but I have another engagement that day.”

Jeanette’s eyebrows shot up. “Get out. You have a date?”

Nell glared at her. “Would that be such a shock?”

“High time, that’s what I think. Calvin and I were just thinking about who we could fix you up with.”

“I can find my own suitors.”

“Then who is it?”

“No one you know.”

Calvin narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have to play coy with us. Smooth of Soren Michaels to move his show up the week ahead of ours.”

Nell elbowed him. “You promised. No talk about the salons.”

“What? You want I should just pretend I’m deaf and dumb? The adverts are out. Invitations in the mail. Should be quite the show.”

Nell laughed. “You’re right. I shouldn’t be so prickly. There are a few surprises that you don’t know about.”

Calvin said he could hardly wait.

Jeanette glared at Calvin. “Does this mean you won’t go to my studio’s recital?”

“Guess not, cupcake, although it breaks my heart.”

Jeanette stalked off toward the flat, then shot a remark over her shoulder. “I know where I rank.”

Calvin hurried up to her and draped his arm over her shoulders. “You’re the top, Jeanette, and just because I can’t make this recital doesn’t mean I won’t have a dozen other chances.” He pecked her on the cheek.

She turned her face to his, her lips poised for his.

Nell hung back, her heart warm at seeing them like this. A simple disagreement erased in a tick with a kiss. She sighed, remembering when things were that simple with Quentin.

A knot formed in her throat.

Since Aunt Sarah, Iris, and Mittie were arriving on Friday morning, Nell had wired and asked them to meet her at the salon when they got settled. The show was a week away, and with each passing day, the tangle in Nell’s stomach wound more tightly. She and Soren wrote the final copy for the presentation, then rewrote it when he added two gowns for the event he heralded as Golden Days and Velvet Nights.

The new designs were Soren’s most adventurous yet; one was a dress that would appeal to the older clientele. It featured a slim silhouette with sheer sleeves and cascading petals of silk in warm honey, chestnut, and ending with a burnt-pumpkin color at the midcalf. To complete the ensemble, Nell kept with the basic cloche pattern that had become the staple for the show, but then added a heavily wired brim and covered it with gold bullion lamé that had a solid feel and would keep its shape. Because Hazel and Marcella were still stitching some of the embroidered designs, she added a single large velvet flower. The simplicity of it with the ornate hat fabric was perfect.

The other was a cream underdress with an overlay of the same color with random placement of gold-and-bronze beading and a slightly flared hemline that skimmed the knees. It was both flirty and pretentious and sure to be a hit with the girls who were clamoring for the flapper styles. The accompanying hat would have a gossamer effect with intricate beading and seed pearls that matched the dress, a design that would require long hours to finish in time.

Not counting the hours of practice with the script to ensure that she didn’t embarrass Oscar and lose her job. But then, he wouldn’t really fire her, would he? She thought of Nora Remming and how Nora’s hats had been featured regularly in the front window when Nell had started at the salon. Look where Nora ended up two years later. With Oscar there were no guarantees.

By four on Friday afternoon, she still hadn’t heard from Aunt Sarah, so she went to the showroom, waited on a couple of customers, and rearranged a late summer display. At half past four, the door jangled and Iris and Mittie came breezing in with armloads of shopping bags. Hugs and hellos, questions and chatter erupted until Nell pulled them toward the back of the shop.

“You look wonderful, but where’s Aunt Sarah? You’ve not worn her out already, I hope.”

Mittie tried on one of the new floppy-brimmed hats made in an open lacy weave and looked in the mirror, her chocolate eyes dancing. “My darling cousin, we are on our own. Mother came down with a dreadful stomach ailment six hours before the train left, but we already had our tickets, so she relented and sent us on our way. Here we are.”

Iris, cute as ever with a new curly bob of her own, said, “We had to promise not to do anything outrageous, so just in case your roommate tries to drag us off to one of those speakeasies—”

Nell held up her hand. “Jeanette doesn’t frequent them anymore. She’s found something better…or should I say someone better to occupy her time.” Nell filled them in on Jeanette and Calvin, about Greta touring the country, and then asked who their latest loves were.

Iris shook her head. “It about broke Mother’s heart that her plan for me to go through the season didn’t bring the man of
her
dreams into my life.”

“So no proposals or wedding bells?”

“Afraid not. Just college classes and a chic new wardrobe to take me there.” She pointed to the bags. “We’ve got a good start.”

“And you, Mittie? Off to college?”

“Not on your life. Although I’m planning to take a few classes in Louisville, but mostly I’ll be helping out in the stables, doing some of the training for Daddy until I figure out what I want. Mother would prefer us to have suitors in the wings, but she’s trying to be a good sport.”

Mittie and Iris picked out two hats each, and while Bea boxed them up, Nell offered to show them around. The conference room was off-limits because of Oscar’s rule about security, but she showed them the fabric and notions room, and when they got to the lift to go upstairs to the workroom, the doors opened and Mavis Benchley stepped out.

After the introductions, Mavis clucked her tongue and shook her head. “My goodness, Nell, but you and Iris favor one another.”

They laughed and said in unison, “So we’ve heard.”

Nell explained to her cousins Mrs. Benchley’s role in making the Stottlemeir Club arrangements. She turned to the older woman. “I’m guessing you and Oscar have everything in order. Anything I can help with?”

“Not a thing. Actually, I dropped by to give dear Oscar directions to our house party in the country tomorrow. And wouldn’t you know, he’s decided at the last minute to decline, said he felt a head cold coming on. You ask me, he’s just a wreck over the show next week.”

“There’s a lot riding on it.”
The understatement of the hour.
“Have a good time. And tell your daughters I said hello.”

Mrs. Benchley said she would, then stopped. “Why, heavenly days, I didn’t even think to ask before—why don’t you all come out to the party? We have worlds of food ordered, and some of Daphne’s friends are going to provide the music. It will be the horror of horrors, I imagine, but the fresh air will be good for all of us.”

Mittie was nodding her head before Mrs. Benchley finished. “Sounds divine! What say we go?”

Nell couldn’t think of any reason not to. It would keep Mittie from pouting about missing the jazz clubs, and Nell had always wanted to see Mrs. Benchley’s little place in the country, as Daphne had called it.

Mrs. Benchley dug in her handbag and handed Nell a slip of paper. “The directions I had for Oscar. Come any time after three o’clock. Casual dress.”

Friday evening and Saturday’s shopping flew by in a blur, and when they went back to the Algonquin, Mittie sunk onto the davenport and tucked her legs under her.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, Nell. I thought you’d be all bubbly with your promotion and the runway show coming up.”

Nell swallowed the brick in her throat. “The ensembles are fabulous, but I’ve got the willies. Getting the promotion was nice, but Soren came up with an idea that may be my undoing.” She told them about narrating the millinery portion onstage. “I’m afraid I’ll freeze and won’t remember the lines or start stammering and ruin everything.”

Iris told her she’d be fine. Sweet Iris. Always the cheerleader.

Mittie, though, said, “I’d be scared out of my wits.” She swung her legs down. “Hey, why don’t you practice on us? Stand over there by the lamp. Iris, go get your hairbrush for the mic.”

While Nell protested, Iris ran in to bedroom and came back with a brush; then her cousins lined up and Mittie said, “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the star of our show.” She made a swooping motion with her hand toward Nell.

Nell knew the script by heart. She took a deep breath, held the fake mic, and started at the top. “The silk cloche with an o-overlay of gold metallic lace features a…a flared b-brim and…and is accented with a ribbon. No, wait…a black velvet r-r-ribbon.” Her hand fell to her side, her face flaming.

Iris said, “Not bad. Just a couple of stumbles. I’m sure we make you nervous. Want to try again?”

Nell shook her head. Oscar was right. She would make a fool of herself and worse…him. If she couldn’t even keep her wits with the twins, what would she do in front of a crowd? She wanted to crawl into a hole.

Mittie saved the day by saying it was time to go to the party, and shortly afterward, Nell gave their cabdriver directions to Mrs. Benchley’s house on the North Shore of Long Island.

Mrs. Benchley’s
little house
wasn’t like that of the Vanderbilts or J. P. Morgan or the Roosevelts that the cabbie mentioned on the drive, but it was a stately Federal design set back from the highway and accessed through iron gates. Seagulls swooped over the water of Long Island Sound, its pearly beaches like a ribbon streaming all the way to the Atlantic.

A butler opened the door for them and a passing guest thumbed over his shoulder toward the rear of the house. “Whole blamed mess of people out back. You can’t miss it for the racket.”

They stepped through French doors onto a wide expanse of lawn. Dozens of people milled about, laughing, dressed like they were going to the Kentucky Derby with their summer dresses and hats. Casual by city standards, perhaps, but still smart. Seersucker suits and boater hats on the gentlemen. Black-and-white patent spats.

Claudia Benchley saw them first and came bustling over. “Mother said you might come. Oh, isn’t it just divine out here in the country?” She leaned back, her face to the sun. “You can actually see the sky here. And the stars at night. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

She linked arms with Nell and Iris and told Mittie to follow along.

“I didn’t expect such a crowd. Are these your neighbors or friends from the city?” Nell asked.

“Some of both. We used to spend the summer months out here. Mother grew up here so she knows hoards of people.” She waved at a stylish woman around Mrs. Benchley’s age dangling a long cigarette holder. “Mrs. Vandercleeve. Her husband’s in the publishing business. Sweet folks, but watch what you say or you’ll end up in the newspapers.”

Claudia certainly seemed in her element and not the shy, retiring girl Nell had met nine months ago. Or maybe she was just maturing.

“Hey, Claudia, who do we have here?” A guy with a shock of blond hair and a dark caramel tan waved them over. He scurried around dragging up more chairs so they could join the group and said his name was Steve.

“So why is it we’ve never met you dolls before?” he asked when Claudia introduced them. A waiter brought a tray loaded with glasses of frosty, sweet lemonade, and as they sipped the drinks, the discussion bounced from tennis to the latest Jack Dempsey boxing match to Lillian Gish’s new movie. Nell’s thoughts drifted to her script as she silently rehearsed her lines. She blinked when she heard Kentucky Derby and realized the group was asking where Mittie and Iris got their Southern accents.
Relax. Enjoy the party and forget about the show.
If only she could.