The Sisters Montclair (22 page)

And yet, after his comment in the café, how could she not? There had been a challenge in his invitation, a subtle avowal that he might have been wrong about her after all. The truth was, she didn’t want to be seen with him, and yet to acknowledge that would make her seem cowardly and pretentious. Laura had more courage than she did.

“Do you like jazz?”

Startled out of her thoughts, she turned her face from the window.

“I suppose I do,” she said.

“Have you ever been to the River Rat Club?”

“No.”

They were speeding along the road toward Nashville. Through the trees, the black river glinted. “It was supposedly built as a hideaway by Al Capone for his Tennessee mistress. They say there are tunnels that run from the cellar to the river where the bootleggers used to bring the liquor in.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

He laughed, his face gleaming in the dashboard lights. “Stick with me, kid. You’ll learn all kinds of things.”

They got off the blacktop and followed a sandy road for about a quarter of a mile before turning into a narrow lane. A metal cattle gate with a chain and a padlock stood open as they passed slowly down the sandy track, thick underbrush crowding in on either side of the car. They drove for nearly a quarter of a mile before Alice began to see light through the trees. The road widened and the trees on either side gave way, and they were suddenly in an open field, crowded with automobiles. An ordinary-looking house with all its windows lit up sat on a bluff overlooking the river. Alice could hear the distant wail of a clarinet.

They parked the car and got out and walked up the sandy drive to the house.

He pushed his way in ahead of her, taking her hand. The music was an assault to the ears, the smoke, the closely packed bodies reeking of whiskey and tobacco and sweat was almost too much for her. She had to breathe through her mouth, looking down at her feet as he pulled her along. There were no tables but he managed to find them a couple of spaces at the bar, and he made room for her beside him and ordered two Highballs.

He leaned over and said into her ear, “See anyone you know?”

She shook her head, looking around the smoky club.

“Not your usual crowd.”

“No,” she said, hoping her relief wasn’t too apparent.

The band was playing I’ll Get By and the dance floor was packed. Beside them at the bar, a couple of young women wearing too much rouge laughed loudly. Their dates eyed Alice boldly.

“Do you come here often?” She had to lean in to talk to him, so close she could smell the faint scent of his cologne.

“I come for the music,” he said. He leaned his elbows on the bar behind him, regarding her with a grave expression. Beneath his steady appraisal, Alice found herself wondering if her lipstick was applied correctly, if her hair had lost its carefully-constructed wave and gone wild and curly in the heat.

“The Jazz Age is dead Up East,” he said, “but down here everyone’s still dancing the shimmy.”

“So you’re saying we’re provincial hicks.”

“Compared to New York, yes.”

She eyed him above the rim of her drink. “Spend a lot of time in New York, do you?”

He frowned, looking down into his glass. The part in his carefully combed dark hair was as white and straight as if drawn with a ruler. He was wearing a navy blazer and a pair of wide-bottomed trousers, and Alice was struck again by the quality of the cloth and the fit of his clothes. So different from the first night she’d met him, in his greasy jumpsuit with his hair combed carelessly and breaking over his forehead.

“I go up a couple of times a year on business.” He swirled his drink, and looked at her. “Have you ever been?”

“Many times. A number of the girls I go to Sweet Briar with are from the city. We’d ride the train up on the weekends to go to house parties.”

He looked at the dance floor, watching the sweating couples who were dancing with vigorous abandon. “Sweet Briar,” he said distantly. “Where’s that?”

“Virginia.” She hesitated a moment and then added, “Didn’t my sister tell you where I was in school.”

He stared at the crowd. The music crescendoed and then stopped. The musicians shuffled around on the stage and set their instruments down to take a break. “Your sister rarely mentions you at all,” he said, grimacing, and tossed back his drink.

Ridiculous that his comment should bother her, but it did. She had been the one to bring Laura up, not him. But mentioning her seemed to set up a chill between them, an uneasy distance, so that they both stared at the dance floor for some time without speaking.

It was easy to tell herself that she was here to rescue her sister, to see to it that she didn’t risk her reputation on a man like Brendan Burke. And even her promise to see him tonight, extracted from her on the Country Club dance floor, had been more about preventing a scene with Bill Whittington than anything else. Or so she had told herself earlier, as she carefully dressed to meet Brendan. But why then, had she agreed to come with him to the jazz club? Why had she been so hesitant to let the evening end? What excuse could she possibly find for that?

She found him attractive; there was no denying it. He was different from the men she usually dated. They were polished and self-assured but he had his rough edges, a feeling of containment that seemed at times, forced. She felt that by hiding parts of himself away, by keeping secrets, he made himself more interesting. She imagined him a man capable of great passion. She had seen it in his face earlier when he spoke of jazz, when he listened to the five-man negro band build to the pumping crescendo of
I’ll Get By
, the
ride-out
he called it, his lips parted, eyes narrowed with pleasure. His hands, with their long blunt fingers, rapped the bar in time to the music. It was easy to imagine those hands, strong, capable, cupping a breast or stroking a thigh.

“A penny for your thoughts,” he said and she looked up to see him regarding her with a look of curious amusement.

Her face flushed with a sudden heat and she turned her shoulders, leaning back against the bar.

“Are you all right?” he said.

“It’s rather warm in here.”

“Let’s finish our drinks and then we’ll leave.”

The band climbed back onto the stage, swinging into a spirited rendition of
Nagasaki
, and the crowd reacted enthusiastically. A young man in a Glen plaid suit came up and tapped Alice on the shoulder.

“Would you like to dance?” he said.

“No, she wouldn’t,” Brendan said. He took her hand and led her toward the dance floor.

“That was rude,” Alice said.

“Was it?”

“You know it was.”

“I’m not as generous as Bill Whittington,” he said, pulling her smoothly into his arms.

It was after midnight when they finally left. Walking out into the cool night air was like diving into icy water. Alice stopped for a moment, breathing deeply, filling her lungs hungrily. He still held her hand. She didn’t pull away.

They walked quietly down the sandy lane toward the field where they’d parked the car. The field was less crowded now; only a few dozen cars remained. The grass glistened wetly in the slanting light from the club windows. He leaned and opened her door and then held it, slightly askew, so she couldn’t step inside.

“I want to see you again,” he said. His face in the dim light was pale but determined.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Are you engaged to Whittington?”

“No.”

“Then I want to see you again.”

“Look,” she began reasonably but, without asking, he leaned over and kissed her. The move was so unexpected, so smooth and practiced, the weight of his mouth so pleasurable, that she gave herself up to him almost immediately, leaning with her back against the warm car while he kissed her hungrily.

The music began again, faintly, the beginning strains of
Summertime
rising along the ridge tops into the starry sky. Far off across the river, the distant sound of a passing train echoed, low and mournful.

Laura was sitting up in bed reading
Anna Karenina
when she came in. She called softly to Alice as she walked by.

“Have you been out with Bill Whittington?” Her face in the lamp light was thin and hauntingly beautiful.

“No,” Alice said. “With some friends.”

“Ah.” She smiled faintly and looked down at her book, a delicate color rising in her face. “Mother said you had broken it off with Bill.”

“Mother seems to keep her ear to the ground when it comes to my affairs.”

“You know how she is.”

“Yes.”

“Well, goodnight then.”

“Goodnight, Laura.”

A
lice’s power was back on when Stella arrived on the following Wednesday and the orange cones across the end of her driveway were gone. Elaine was busy writing in the binder when she walked into the kitchen.

“When did the power come back on?” Stella asked, setting her backpack down on the counter.

“Sunday night. The second storm that came in Thursday night was awful. It hit not long after you left. I made Alice get in the hallway and we huddled there until it passed.”

“I’ll bet she liked that.”

Elaine gave her a faint, practiced smile. “How about you?” she said. “Did you lose power?”

“No, believe it or not, we were one of the few houses in the whole valley that didn’t.”

“Lucky you. It’s still out on Signal.”

“Sorry.”

Elaine began to collect her knitting, stuffing it into a long embroidered bag. “Oh, one other thing. The cable’s out. So Alice can’t watch
Family Feud
or
Wheel of Fortune
. It’s made for a couple of tense nights.”

“Well, we don’t watch a lot of TV anyway.”

Elaine straightened, an expression of curious disbelief on her face. “Really? What do you do then?”

“Mainly Alice tells me stories and I listen.”

Elaine stared at her as if she couldn’t quite comprehend this. She gathered her embroidered bag and her laptop. “I’ll see you tonight,” she said.

Stella waited until she heard the front door slam and then she opened the binder and read what Elaine had written.

Restless last night. She dreamed about someone named Brendan. When I asked her this morning, she said she didn’t know who I was talking about. She was breathless this morning when I woke her.

Stella walked down the long hallway to the bedroom to say good morning.

“Oh, hello,” Alice said. “You’re back.”

“Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

“Sometimes I wonder.”

“So the power came back on Sunday night?”

“Yes. And not a minute too soon. She had me get in the hallway while she was on the phone to her mother, hysterical, that we were going to get killed by a tornado.”

“Sorry, Alice. I probably should have stayed.”

“I kept telling her,
If we get hit by a tornado, so what? If it’s our time to go, it’s our time to go.
”

“I’m sure that made her feel a whole lot better.”

“Do you know what she said to me last time we were sitting in the dark? She said,
Alice, I’m going to sing you some hymns.
” Alice rolled her eyes and her expression was so droll that Stella laughed.

“And what did you say?”

“I said,
Oh, yes please.
”

“And how long did this go on?”

“Too long.”

“Well, don’t worry. I’m not going to sing you any hymns.”

“Thank you,” Alice said.

That morning as they walked through the living room, Stella looked down at the hazy valley and said, “Alice, can you see the Incline from here?”

“What?”

“The Incline.”

“The what?”

“The Incline Railroad,” Stella said loudly. “Can you see it from here?”

“You can’t see the Incline from here. It’s on the other side. Although the view on this side is better than on East Brow. Over there all you can see is the cemetery and the cement factory.” She chuckled maliciously when she said this, sliding her walker out in front of her.

The Incline was the steepest passenger railway in the world. It ran up the side of Lookout Mountain and in places boasted a vertical incline of over seventy percent. Stella had ridden it once when she first moved to Chattanooga. It began in a little town at the foot of Lookout Mountain named St. Elmo, an old suburb of Victorian cottages fallen on lean times, and ended at the top of the mountain near Point Park, a world famous tourist attraction.

Later, as they where having lunch, Alice said, “You know, I went one day to pick up my son, Roddy, at the Incline and he wasn’t there. My children all went down to Miss Fenimore’s School and the teacher was supposed to put them on the Incline after school and I’d pick them up at the station. Anyway, one day Roddy wasn’t on the train. His cousins, Spears and Barrett, were there but Roddy wasn’t. So I drove down to Miss Fenimore’s School and I said,
Where’s Roddy? You didn’t put him on the Incline.
And the teacher, Ann Ricks, said
Oh, did I forget one of the Whittingtons? There’s just too many of them to keep track of!
And she and the headmistress acted like it was just a big joke. So I lit into them. I mean, I really let them have it.”