“You are a vision,” he said, kissing my cheek.
I hoped my smile concealed the nagging pain I felt in my lower abdomen. Probably just indigestion—Bonnie’s cooking was divine, but in acquiescing to Frank’s preference for heavily spiced dishes, sometimes meals didn’t sit well with me. In any case, I vowed not to let an upset stomach ruin the evening, or worry Frank, who was prone to fuss about anything these days. When I had a prolonged case of the hiccups the week prior, he called the obstetrician for reassurance.
“Look at the artful detailing on those earrings,” he said.
I grazed my hand against the edge of one of the pink stones dangling from my ears, grateful to hear the doorbell chime, and that Frank hadn’t asked how much I’d paid for them. They were expensive. Quite.
“Ah, our first guests have arrived,” he said, taking my hand. “Let’s go greet them, shall we?”
* * *
—
At half-past ten, when the last couple had finally departed, I sank into the sofa and kicked off my heels. The party was a success—at least in Frank’s eyes. There had been eight couples in attendance, all from his firm, including his superior, Jim, and Gabrielle, his prickly wife, who sat beside me during dinner. I tried my best to make conversation with her, but it was like talking to a brick wall—with frosted pink lipstick.
The other women weren’t much warmer, though I did strike up a conversation with one named Connie, who was about my age and nice enough, but all she seemed to want to talk about was her suspicion that her husband was having an affair with a particularly buxom secretary in the office. In an attempt to steer the subject to calmer waters, I told her about the big idea that had been keeping me up at night, and in the very best of ways: opening a bookstore in Santa Monica. Unfortunately, though, Gabrielle took an interest in our conversation and poked her head in.
“Oh, how adorable,” she said. “A bookstore. So quaint. So London. But, darling, you do realize that nobody reads in L.A., don’t you? We watch movies.”
The memory was still fresh as Frank slid onto the couch beside me.
“Did you have fun?”
“Yes,” I lied.
“They’re really wonderful people.”
“They are,” I said, lying again as I felt my belly tighten and a surge of pain radiate in my lower back. I instantly regretted eating dessert.
“You love California, don’t you?” Frank asked, his question more a statement of fact.
I paused for a moment, forcing a smile. “I do like the palm trees, and…the sunshine…but, Frank, there’s something I want to talk to you about.” I steadied myself. “I’ve been thinking that…after…the baby comes, I’d like to spend time doing what I’ve always dreamed of.”
He set his drink down on the coffee table, a bit distracted. “And what is this dream of yours?”
“Frank, you know—the bookstore. I told you about it—in London. I’ve always wanted to open one, and there’s a lovely storefront for rent on Main Street—I walked by it recently—and it would be the perfect location.” As his interest waned, my persistence grew, as did the pace of my speech. “I’d sell used books, mostly, but new titles, too. It’ll take a bit of fixing up, but I can do most of the work, and…oh, Frank…can’t you just picture it—shelves of books, comfy chairs in every corner!”
I waited for his reply, but he just sat there on the sofa staring at me as if I’d said the most ridiculous—or amusing—thing he’d ever heard. “Darling,” he finally said, “let me get this straight. You want to sell used books?”
I nodded. “Yes, and I—”
“Eloise, there’s no money in used books. It would be a losing proposition from the start.” He patted my leg. “If you’re looking for something to do, why don’t I make a few calls. I’m sure there’s a charity board we can get you on. In fact, Jim’s wife, Gabrielle, heads the Children’s Hospital Society. You could help them out with a fundraiser, after the baby is older, of course.”
I didn’t tell him that Gabrielle was my least favorite person at the party, nor did I reveal what I overheard her say to one of the other wives beside me—it couldn’t be true. In any case, she was the last person I’d want to work with, even if her charity was an admirable one. I merely stared ahead as Frank yawned and retired for the night.
There goes my California dream.
I had too much on my mind to sleep, so I wandered into the kitchen to make a cup of tea, where I found Bonnie finishing the dishes. Her smile vanished when she saw my face. “What’s wrong, dear?” While we hadn’t known each other long, her kind eyes were a sponge for my pain. “Did you have a nice time at the party?”
“Yes,” I said with a sigh. “I guess.”
“Tell me what’s on your mind.”
The emotions I’d kept bottled up since that last day in London were pressing on my heart with such force, I felt like I might explode if I didn’t confide in Bonnie. I told her how lonely I’d felt since arriving in America, how Frank had all but dismissed my entrepreneurial ideas.
“Give him time, dear,” she said. “Mr. Baker can be set in his ways at times, but he’s a generous man, and he loves you. He’ll come around.”
I wanted to believe Bonnie, desperately so, but I struggled to understand. If he professed to love me, as he did, wouldn’t he choose to support my dreams instead of disregarding them? But no, I feared that I knew something about Frank that Bonnie didn’t: When he made a decision, it was final.
“Anyway,” I said with a sigh as she handed me a cup of chamomile tea, “it’s okay.”
“It’s late, dear,” she replied. “Being a hostess is hard work. You need rest. The sun will shine tomorrow.”
It reminded me of something my mother—the ultimate optimist—would have said, even in spite of her own troubled life. Yes, the sun would shine tomorrow, and the next day and the next, and I’d continue on the hamster wheel, pretending to be happy, pretending that everything was fine…pretending.
“Yes,” I said with a yawn. “I should probably turn in.” But I couldn’t shake what I’d overheard Gabrielle whispering at the table. I didn’t dare bring it up with Frank, but I wondered if Bonnie could provide some reassurance.
I stood up, turning to the kitchen door before glancing back to her. “There’s just one more thing,” I said. “During dinner, one of the women said something that was…rather strange.”
“Oh?”
“I probably misheard, and perhaps they were referring to another person entirely, but Gabrielle and Connie were talking about another woman, and it sounded like…Frank’s first wife.”
Bonnie’s eyes widened.
“Which is ridiculous, right? Frank wasn’t married before. Surely he would have told me if he was.” I searched Bonnie’s eyes for validation, but didn’t find any. “Wait, is it true?” I paused, my pulse quickening, as Bonnie turned to the kitchen sink, her back to me.
“Bonnie, please, I have to know.”
“And you deserve to,” she said, shifting to face me, her eyes filled with regret. “But…it isn’t my place.”