The Older Man
A couple of nights later, we all got dressed up to go to Bemelmans. Clover said that I could wear my Catherine Deneuve dress, the navy-blue shift with the white Peter Pan collar. I said I thought maybe it wasn’t dressy enough but she said: “Oh no, trust me. It’s exactly right.”
That’s a phrase of Clover’s. It’s exactly right. She says it whenever she approves of something. Which makes you think that in her world a lot of other things must go under the heading: exactly wrong. Here is what she told us in a nutshell about the world today: “We are hardly living in the golden age.”
Meanwhile, Valentine said, “But I don’t have anything fancy! We just wear jeans or leggings in San Francisco. It’s true what they say about the East Coast. Everyone here is so uptight!”
Clover took a good long look at her and said, “You know, I think we’re about the same measurements, you’re just so much taller. You already have quite the figure actually. If you don’t mind something being short on you, I bet I can find you something of mine.”
A little while later, she came back with a backless sea-green sheath dress in a light, breezy silk. It looked like something to have cocktails in in an old movie. But Valentine said, “No back, that’s weird. I wish it were low-cut.”
Clover said, “Trust me, this way it’s much more subtle.”
“Subtle?” echoed Valentine. “But, Clover, I don’t want to be subtle.”
Clover laughed and said, “No, at your age, I don’t suppose you would,” and ended up letting Valentine get away with borrowing a pair of alligator pumps of Theo’s (“Don’t tell”) and putting on gobs of dark green eyeliner. Then she said, “Put up your hair. No, no, not straight back. Up, up in a twist. Then pull some of the curls out in front. That’s it, you’ve got it.”
The dress was very short and very tight on Valentine and she looked absolutely fantastic and she knew it.
I thought how crummy it was to be fourteen years old and have to look all jeune fille in a Peter Pan collar and my pale pink ballet flats, when my sister was trotting around in a pair of the great Theodora Bell’s alligator pumps.
Clover, as if sensing this, said, “You look very pretty tonight, Franny, and very Parisian.”
“Thanks, Clover.”
“Okay, you two! Now it’s time for me to go get dressed.”
When Clover came downstairs again, she looked completely different. Gone was the cute little bluebird whose soft blond hair was often messy. She had on a cool black linen sheath. Her lashes were very black and her lips were very pale pink, almost white, and her hair was smoothed back into a bun at the nape of her neck. She looked grown up and rather serious. But glamorous. Definitely glamorous.
Then she threw a beautiful soft pink-and-red shawl over her shoulders, which made her look more like an artist, which she was.
“Aunt Theo got this for me once, in Budapest.”
“Oh, Clover!” I said, marveling at her transformation, at how many women one woman can be.
She smiled and said, “Don’t forget. I am your chaperone.”
Bemelmans Bar was located all the way on the Upper East Side at the Carlyle, which is this very swanky hotel. As soon as we went inside the bar, I figured out why it’s called “Bemelmans”—because that’s the last name of the guy who did the Madeline books and his drawings are all over the walls. Valentine figured it out too.
“Cool,” she said, sounding for once not like she was trying to be seventeen and unimpressed with everything. It was like there were stars in her eyes when she exclaimed: “Madeline!”
Mom used to read us those books at bedtime when we were little, and then later on when we started learning French they were some of the first things we read in the language. So we felt that we knew Madeline like she was a real person, and it was exciting to be here at Bemelmans Bar with the mural of all these darling bunnies wearing green jackets and sitting under peppermint-striped umbrellas.
“See how delicate and how intimate Bemelmans’s hand is,” said Clover, pointing. “I love how the images aren’t perfect, you know. You can imagine his hand kind of wavering over some of them.”
We sat down in the most comfortable seats ever. They were made out of this red velvet that was unlike any other velvet I had ever known. The touch was just that much richer.
“Oh my God, I could sleep here,” said Valentine.
“Well, before you nod off,” said Clover, “which waiter do you think is the cutest?”