He stuck his elbow out, and Fannie slipped her hands through his arm. She knew the routine by now. Federal agents, whose job it was to enforce the law on Prohibition, warily eyed the clubs for lawbreakers. But the clubs had figured out a way to circumvent them by creating hidden back rooms, the only access through secret passageways. Norwood escorted Fannie through the ladies’ dressing room into a closet, where he pushed on a coat rack. When he did that, a hidden door at the back of the closet opened up into a smoke-filled back room bustling with people. They stayed there most of the night, getting to know each other, sipping on fancy drinks like Sazeracs and Pimm’s Cups.
Norwood came back to the club almost every night after that, except for the days he was on the river. Each night he came in, he asked Fannie to marry him. And each night Fannie demurely waved him off.
When this had gone on for a several months, Norwood took her aside one night and asked, “When you gonna come out with me, let me buy you dinner?”
“Only night off is Sunday,” Fannie replied.
“I’m on the river all week, but I’ll be by Sunday around six. Wear something special.”
The following Sunday, after Gertie helped Fannie pick out a proper dress, Fannie and Norwood went to Antoine’s Restaurant. She’d never been to such a fancy place, with cloth napkins, and waiters in tuxedos. They were seated at a table in the big room with soaring ceilings and dozens of fans whirring overhead.
When the waiter came over, Norwood leaned over and asked, “Say, where can a fella get some hooch?”
The waiter, his black hair oiled down against his head, winked at him and said in a thick Cajun accent, “If the gentleman would follow me.”
The waiter escorted him toward the ladies’ room, where he emerged a few minutes later carrying two large ceramic coffee cups.
“What’s this?” Fannie asked as he placed a cup in front of her.
“Champagne for the lady,” he said with a tight-lipped smile, as if he were keeping something from her.
“Champagne? What’s the occasion?”
Norwood sat down, pulled a small box from his pocket, and opened it to reveal a gold ring set with a small round diamond. He held it out to Fannie. “Listen, baby, I make good money. I can take real good care of you. I promise never to lay a hand on you. And once we’re married, you won’t have to work at the Starlight. What do you say, Pearl? Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
Fannie didn’t quite know what to say. She thought he had been joking all this time about getting married. Now here he was with a ring. Her head was swimming. He seemed nice enough. It was the first time in her life she’d ever felt wanted by someone. Really wanted. Besides, Norwood had a way of making her feel as if she really were a real lady. She put her hand in her lap and looked down, wondering if she’d fallen for him the way he seemed to have fallen for her.
“Well, what do you say, honey?” he asked anxiously, still holding the ring out in front of her.
Fannie gazed up at his handsome boyish face. “Of course, Norwood. I’d be honored.” She put her hand over his. “But since we’re going to be married, you should know my name’s not Pearl. It’s Frances Hadley. But you can call me Fannie.”
When Doll finished the story, Ibby pulled her legs up onto the bed and hugged them tight.
“So it was love at first sight?”
“That’s one way of looking at it, I suppose,” Doll said with a laugh.
“Now I understand Fannie’s obsession with the cemetery. She hated the way her mother was buried out in the woods like an animal.”
Doll nodded. “Was hard times back then. She don’t like to talk about it much, particularly about her mama. Miss Fannie come a long way since she was Miss Pearl the Oyster Girl.”
“Maybe that big red car is her way of proving it,” Ibby said.
“I never thought of it that way, but maybe so.” Doll scratched her head. “That Mr. Norwood—he adored your grandmother. You know them pearls Miss Fannie wears around her neck every day? He gave them to her as a wedding present. Ain’t a day goes by she don’t have them on. You know, when you think about it, Miss Fannie’s like a pearl. Starts out rough, just a tiny piece of sand. Layer by layer, that piece of sand becomes round and smooth until one day you can’t even tell that piece of sand is still buried in that pearl. Did you know that the more wear a pearl gets, the luster just grows finer? Just like your grandmother. She may not be high-and-mighty like other folks, but she a lady just the same. You remember that, no matter what other people might say.” She patted Ibby’s knee. “Now I got to go help Queenie in the kitchen.” Before she left, she turned to Ibby and wagged her finger. “And one more thing. If I catch any boys up in this here room again, those boards are going right back up on the windows. Understand?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A few days later Ibby came in by the back door and set a package on the kitchen table.
“You go and buy yourself another record album?” Queenie asked.
“Yep.” Ibby opened the icebox door and took out a pitcher of lemonade.
“I don’t understand all that loud music you young folks listen to these days. But, you know, Miss Fannie, she used to do the same thing. She’d close the door, turn the phonograph up real loud, and dance around her room for hours on end, just like you do.”
“She did?”