“Do?”
“Well, you don’t seem to have any interest in getting married. And while there is money to be made in the type of exploits that got you sent here, I don’t imagine that’s a career ‘Daddy’ would approve of.” I sat in silence for a moment, catching a satisfied smile on Ada’s face. “Oh my. Did I actually stump you? I thought you had a comeback for everything.”
“That’s you,” I said.
“And I told you not to make that face if you don’t want wrinkles. I think you’re destined for children. You’ll look older than me within five years.”
I felt my face scowling and tried to smooth it out. “I’m not against marriage,” I said finally. “I just don’t want to be forced into it. If I do, it’ll be for love.”
“Love fades,” Ada said, putting her newspaper back up and flipping the page. “You’re better off marrying for compatibility at that point.”
“Have you been in love?”
She kept her face behind the newspaper. “We’re discussing you. And you’re dodging the question.”
“I don’t know exactly. I suppose I’ll need a job if I don’t marry.”
“Did that just occur to you?”
I threw my hands up. “Maybe it’s you who causes wrinkles.”
She lowered the paper enough to catch my eye. “Just call me Dorian Gray.”
We were both silent as she returned to reading. “I enjoy writing,” I said quietly. She didn’t respond. “But there’s no real money in that if you’re not a literary genius. And I’m no F. Scott Fitzgerald.”
“A better thing than you realize. Scott was a mess.”
“You’re not about to tell me you knew Scott Fitzgerald!”
“I wouldn’t say knew. But I met him.” I stared at her in wonder. “Close your mouth. You’ll catch flies.” I mulled this over, trying to picture any circumstances where Ada could have crossed his path. “I imagine your father thinks writing is a waste of time.”
“Completely,” I said. “Mama doesn’t though.”
“Your mother always had her nose in a book. I suppose it’s an escape from the tedium now.”
“Her life isn’t tedious.”
Ada folded her newspaper and set it down, rising from the table. “Then why don’t you want a similar one?” And without another word, she left the room.
The client meetings began promptly at nine the following morning. I wondered when she arranged them, but then I realized that was probably what she did when she dismissed me in the afternoons. Or it had been Lillian’s job.
I was a fast learner and had gotten much better at taking notes, to the point where I earned a nod from Ada when she reviewed them. She raised an eyebrow when I suggested that our second client would be a good fit for a young man we had met the previous week. “And why is that?”
“Well, they both enjoy music and art. She’s shorter than him. They’re about the same level of attractiveness. And neither of their mothers seemed awful. I think they’d get along.”
“Excellent appraisal. We’ll try it and see how you did.”
I was suddenly apprehensive. “What if they hate each other? You’ll blame me.”
“It’s a risk you must be willing to take if you’re going to make suggestions.”
“So I should keep my mouth shut?”
“Are you capable of that? Besides, if you’re right, you’re guaranteeing two lifetimes of happiness.”
“Happiness or tedium?”
Ada shrugged. “Once they reach the altar, that part is up to them. We can only teach them to fish. We can’t also teach them to cook, chew, and swallow.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
We broke for lunch, and then Ada informed me we were done for the afternoon. I raised my eyebrows, wondering if this was a result of fewer families being in town or if it was because she actually treated her time in town as somewhat of a vacation. But following her dictum of gift horses and mouths, I didn’t question my good fortune.
Instead, I raced up the stairs and changed into my new blue bikini, admiring myself in the bathroom mirror before throwing on a caftan and packing a bag with a towel and one of the books my mother had sent. Then I called to Ada that I was going to the beach.
“Don’t burn,” she said. “No one wants to give their number to a lobster.”
“I’ve got my Coppertone.”
“There’s also something to be said for umbrellas.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’ll take that into consideration.”
Ada’s house wasn’t directly on the beach, but it was just two lots from the dunes. She claimed it was safer from storms and she had no intention of losing her house to the ocean. But it had an unobstructed view from the second floor, where my bedroom was. And the walk to the dunes only took a couple of minutes. The dunes themselves were harder to traverse, but soon the ocean spread out before me and I breathed deeply, as Ada had when we entered town. My parents may have preferred the Catskills, but I would always choose the ocean. Even if it was New Jersey.
It was a weekday, and only a handful of women with small children dotted the coast. I selected a spot far from their sandy feet and sticky fingers and spread my towel in the sand.
After applying the tanning lotion, I sat watching the ocean. Daddy certainly wouldn’t approve of this punishment—I looked down at my pale stomach, exposed to sunlight for the first time—or of what I was wearing. But despite Mama’s conservative dress, I somehow thought she would. Whatever part of her that spent the summer with Ada all those years ago, that part would approve of me here now. Even if she had fainted when I said I wasn’t going to get pregnant in front of the rabbi.
I opened the book—it was an advance copy. One of Daddy’s friends was in publishing and often gave my mother books before they were in stores. Daddy never knew how many burned dinners Mr. Stein had caused. This was called To Kill a Mockingbird. Mama wrote inside the cover, as she always did when she passed me books, that it was due out the following week. Before I knew it, I had read a hundred pages and realized I had better flip onto my back if I didn’t want to look like a pancake Mama made while reading. She always served them burnt-side down, but they didn’t fool us anymore.
I lay on my back and pushed my sunglasses up onto my forehead, closing my eyes against the brilliant sunlight, and slowly I began to drift off into a doze.
“Well, if it isn’t the siren of the shore,” a male voice said, waking me. I squinted against the sun, but I could only see the silhouette of a man in a pair of Avalon Beach Patrol trunks. Sitting up and holding my hand above my eyes, I could just make out the young man who had pulled me from the bush my first night in Philadelphia.
“Freddy, isn’t it? I hardly recognize you when I’m not sprawled in shrubbery.”