The Hatmaker's Heart: A Novel (23 page)

Soren Michaels, his hair sleek with pomade, flitted from model to model, giving last-minute instructions and exclaiming how wonderful they all looked. He smelled of shower soap and tooth powder when he draped an arm around Nell’s shoulders and asked if she was ready.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” She held up the script she knew by heart.

A murmur from the back of the dressing room drew her attention to a man in a tuxedo with a carrot-colored cummerbund and matching bow tie. Nell stepped away from Soren and greeted Dr. Underwood.

She smiled at Mrs. Benchley, whose stern look accented the crow’s-feet that had deepened in the two days since Nell had last seen her.

“Mrs. Benchley, have you met Dr. Underwood? He’s the speech therapist you so kindly recommended.” Something akin to alarm flashed in Mrs. Benchley’s eyes. “He’s done me a world of good, getting to the root of my stammering.”

“One of my most difficult cases, I must admit.” Dr. Underwood winked at her. “But such remarkable progress.” He extended a hand to Nell. “I only wanted to let you know I was here. I’ve a feeling you’re going to be just fine.”

Nell thought she would be, too. Her appointment with him had given her perspective and a bit of closure. Dr. Underwood had agreed that allowing herself to be intimidated by Oscar was likely a result of her encounter with her murderous grandfather and the later taunting from classmates who made her feel helpless. He also agreed that going forward with the public speaking would be a good test of the inner strength she’d gained in the process. His arrival and show of support buoyed her spirit.

Oscar came through the stage door as Dr. Underwood left. He sauntered up to Nell. “Who was that man? He was too well dressed to be a reporter.”

Nell braced herself. “My speech therapist. The one to whom I confide my secrets.”

Oscar leaned in and brushed his lips across her cheek and whispered, “Not all of them, I trust.”

Nell felt a perverse pleasure when she said, “Only the ones that are true. Say, doesn’t Mrs. Benchley look lovely? Soren certainly outdid himself on her gown.” It was weak, she knew, but for once it felt good not to be the one squirming. Oscar didn’t know she’d kept Mrs. Benchley’s name out of her confession to Dr. Underwood, but it seemed irrelevant. Irrelevant because Nell had finally come to the decision that she would fulfill her obligation to Oscar and Soren and then turn in her resignation on Monday morning.

Strength and honor.
It was a cloak she wanted. How and where she would find it, she didn’t know. She only knew it was honorable to keep her word in doing the show, but it would be dishonorable to continue her association with a firm whose owner she’d didn’t respect.

Soren shushed everyone and announced, “Places. It’s time to begin.”

Oscar pulled Nell aside. “You look ravishing, dear. This is going to be a night to remember, one we can look back on and mark as the turning point for the salon. And for us.” He kissed her on the cheek, his lips curved into a smile that made Nell’s stomach curdle.

A hush fell across the crowd when Mrs. Benchley stepped to the microphone and gave the welcome. She fit the part, but Nell saw her in a new light—a woman who had money and a place in society, but also one with a hole in her life that none of those things could fill. Perhaps she, too, was chasing an illusion by thinking a younger man could replace the missing pieces.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Soren Michaels and Nell Marchwold for an evening of Golden Days and Velvet Nights.”

Nell smoothed the butterscotch brocade of her gown and took a deep breath, waiting in the shadows for the spotlight to fall on her. She chewed her bottom lip and whispered a prayer as the mannequin stopped center stage and turned, the rich timbre of Soren’s voice filling the room.

“Completing the ensemble is a hat from Nell Marchwold.”

On cue, Nell stepped to the microphone on her side of the stage and swallowed the knot in her throat. She focused on an imaginary spot at the back of the ballroom, then spoke in a clear, calm voice. “The silk cloche with an overlay of gold metallic lace features a flared brim and is accented with a black velvet ribbon.”
Steady. Inhale.
“Black bugle beads and rhinestones echo the gown’s bodice.”

The applause was enthusiastic, but not thunderous like Nell’s heartbeat. She wanted to throw her own velvet cloche in the air in the small victory of getting through the first segment. Only fifteen more to go.

By the halfway point, Nell’s T-strapped shoes with gold spooled heels cramped her toes, and she longed for a sip of water. She ran her tongue over her teeth to moisten them and waited for her turn again. Her eyes barely had time to adjust to the change from standing in darkness to the sudden glare of the spotlight, but near the end of the show, she chanced a look into the audience. In a table in the center of the room, Calvin sat with a group of men she didn’t know. Murdoch’s designers, she assumed. His eyes met hers, and she thought she caught a wink. Then the spotlight fell on her again.

“Red sequins cover the puff cloche that hugs the head, but you will hardly notice you’re wearing it because of the breathable cotton base and cushioned comfort band that secures it. An added accent is a matching rosette made of tulle with a diamond cluster pin in the center.”

The mannequin tilted her head and raised elegant fingers to demonstrate. This time the applause was deafening as the girl made a final flirty walk down the center aisle and struck a pose with one heel lifted behind her, the fringe at the hem shimmering.

A trio of formal evening gowns completed the show, and then Soren waved her over to his side and invited Oscar to join them.

“It is with distinct pleasure that I give you the fall collection from the Soren Michaels and Oscar Fields salons. Oscar, would you please say a few words?”

Oscar draped his arm around Nell’s shoulders and drew her with him to the microphone. “It is indeed my pleasure and honor to present you with this fine assortment of designs. I’m humbled to work with some of the most talented people in New York City…in all the world, if you must know.”

He paused as applause rippled across the crowd. He pulled Nell closer and gave her a kiss on the cheek, but then spoke toward the audience. “What a fine night this is, a night of celebration, and one that I’ve anticipated with glee. I’ve saved an extraordinarily special announcement for this very moment.”

Murmurs rippled like an undertow, Nell’s attention now riveted on Oscar.

With a dramatic pause, Oscar continued. “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight is the unveiling of a new label for Oscar Fields Millinery—my protégé and colleague Nell Marchwold’s designs will now be known as the Nellie March collection.”

Nell heard a gasp and realized it was from her own throat.
What nerve.
Applause and powder flashes from cameras deafened and blinded her. She wanted to crawl out of her skin and disappear. Oscar’s gall in making such a grandstand announcement was matched only by his stupidity in believing that Nell’s loyalty and silence were for sale. That the Nellie March label would erase the memory of him and Mrs. Benchley and all the times she’d been intimidated by him.

His arm around her waist pulled her closer to him, so close she could feel the dampness of his underarms. She rose on tiptoes and whispered to him, “I quit.”

He blinked and smiled, his face to the audience, his grip around her tighter as he made a bowing gesture and then exited into the wings, Soren behind them.

“You rascal, Fields, keeping that announcement under wraps, ending the show on such a feverish pitch.” Soren opened his arms to Nell. “Congratulations, my dear. This honor couldn’t happen to a more deserving nor lovelier lady.”

Nell swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. “You are too kind, Soren.” She gave a sidelong glance toward Oscar, their eyes locked in a war of wills, but she didn’t budge. She couldn’t now. Finally, she broke the gaze and turned to Soren.

“I had intended to make my own announcement on Monday, but Mr. Fields has given me no choice but to go ahead and tell you the news now. I no longer work for Oscar Fields Millinery. Oscar’s ploy was a desperate attempt to exert his control over me…I’ll let him fill you in on the details. Whether the Nellie March label appears on this evening’s designs or not is up to the two of you.”

Oscar cocked his head. “I do believe you’ve come down with a fever, sweetheart. You’re talking nonsense when I thought you would be thrilled, and I wanted to surprise you. Think of your future…our future.”

“I have. Good-bye, Mr. Fields. Good-bye, Soren.” She turned to go, but Oscar grabbed her arm and spun her around.

“Don’t you dare walk away. Leaving me now would sabotage your career.”

She planted the heel of her pump on top of his shoe and put all of her weight on it, grinding the heel as she did so. He let go, and she hurried through the exit, found the stairs and raced down them, ran across the lobby and into the night air.

Tears blurred her vision as she ran, desperate to put distance between herself and the Stottlemeir Club.

Another two blocks and she slowed down. She should get a cab and go home. How? Her evening bag with her coin purse was backstage at the Stottlemeir ballroom. She had no money, not even a nickel for a phone call nor the fare for a motor bus should she stumble upon a stop.

Lights flickered outside of unfamiliar eateries as she passed by streets she’d never heard of. Blisters burned her feet from beautiful, ill-fitting shoes. She took off the shoes and tossed them into a rubbish bin and kept walking in what she hoped was the right direction. The more blocks that passed, the lighter she felt, and after a while, she saw the lights of Times Square.

At an intersection, she spotted a bench for waiting motor bus passengers and welcomed the rough wooden seat. She rubbed the fresh blisters on the bottoms of her feet and those already on her toes through her shredded silk stockings and leaned back, too tired to think, but knowing if she dozed off, something terrible could happen. A mugger or ruffian might take advantage of a nicely dressed woman alone. She almost laughed. Her dress had mud staining the hem where she’d steeped in a puddle, and she was barefoot. She was the one who looked like a ruffian.

She removed her hat, a velvet cloche with a satin lining, and held it to her face and sobbed.

“Hey, lady, off the streets.” A policeman twirled his nightstick in front of her face.

Nell blinked, the haze of city lights reflecting back from the inky sky. “Excuse me, sir. Could you tell me where I am?”

“Dames like you generally know the territory where you conduct your business. Come on. Get up.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “And out. Off my beat, or I’ll have to take you in to the station.”

“Would they give me a phone call?”

“Don’t get fresh with me. Whazza matter? Your fancy man leave you without any money.”

Nell straightened, fresh energy surging through her. “I’m not what you think. I’ve just had an unfortunate night and have lost my handbag. I need to find a phone box to call someone to fetch me. And if it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to know the address of where I am.”

“You sure don’t talk like the usual dolls around here. Gotcha some kind of accent. Takes all kinds, I guess.”

The officer gave her a second look. “Finer dress than most of them, too.”

An idea formed. “Are you married, sir?”

“For eighteen years and three months.”

“I bet your wife would love a new hat. Maybe for her birthday or something special?” She held out her velvet cloche, her fingers caressing the silk flower in the dim night. “One of my creations. You can have it if you’ll give me the money for a phone call.”

“You any idea what you get for bribery? Thirty-day vacation downtown in the city jail.”

“Not a bribe. I’m selling it to you. How about one dollar?”

He dug in his pocket and produced three quarters. “All I got, ma’am.”

“It’s a deal. And don’t forget to mention that it’s an original.”

He took the hat and stuffed it inside his shirt, then jerked his head to the right. “Get on your way, lady.”

She hurried off. Forget the address. She would read the next street sign, look for a payphone station, and when she got hold of Jeanette, she would have her come in a cab and take her home where she could curl up and sleep for a solid week.

Jeanette answered on the first ring. “Nell! Where are you? Calvin called and is worried sick. Said you disappeared and he’s afraid something’s happened to you. Now Oscar’s on the street below. He banged on the door and shouted while I was talking to Calvin, and Calvin told me not to answer.”

“It’s a long story. Can you call a cab and come get me?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea with Oscar down there. Did he do something to you?”

“Not yet.” Nell gave her the street name.

“I’ll send Calvin.”

Half an hour passed before Calvin arrived and gave the taxi driver the address of his parents’ house, telling her Jeanette didn’t think it safe to come home. “What in the world happened? Everyone was thrilled at Oscar’s announcement.”

“It was a desperate move on Oscar’s part.”

“I wondered after the incident with Mrs. Benchley.”

“It’s not even that. I couldn’t tolerate his empty promises and intimidation any longer so I resigned. I finally came to my senses and drummed up some of your courage.” She leaned forward and told the cabbie she’d changed her mind about where to take them and gave the address for her flat.

Calvin scowled. “Jeanette says he’s in a foul mood, keeps banging on her door.”

“I’d just as soon face him tonight as tomorrow. Besides, I need your moral support.”

“You’ve always had that.”

Nell knew she looked awful when they stepped from the cab. It was to her advantage, she thought, that she look defeated and vulnerable when facing Oscar. He didn’t look much better sitting on the steps of Sal’s Diner.

Mr. Fields’s eyes narrowed when he saw her, then looked at Calvin. “Guess I should have expected as much. Two no-counts together.” He reached for Nell, but Calvin stepped between them.