“I’m as serious as they come. So, what are you up to, Mare?”
Not opening Cliff House, Ruby hastened to add. The previous year Mary had been of moderate assistance, but now that she was pregnant—a new “scion,” she claimed—it was all convalescing and complaining so far. And Ruby had her doubts about the alleged baby. Mary displayed none of the usual pregnancy signs and anyway the woman seemed about as fecund as a coal mine.
“Can you imagine sticking your pecker into that broad?” Topper once asked a pal, accidentally within earshot of Ruby. Her brother had been three deep in his favored whiskey-and-whiskey cocktails. “The damn thing would snap like a twig.”
Ruby made like a respectable society bird and promptly jumped to her feet and slapped her brother on the cheek. But, facts were facts. It was the most vivid description she’d heard of another human. And despite her knowing very little about peckers, it seemed accurate to boot.
“Just wanted to check on you,” Mary said as she leaned into the doorjamb, winded with indignation. “Before I catch up on some correspondence. The work never ends! By the by, Mrs. Grimsbury has put tea out on the veranda if you care to partake.”
“Swell,” Ruby replied, eyeing Mary’s midsection and noting it was wooden and flat as ever. “Alas, I don’t have time for sipping tea. There’s a house to be opened. But I do hope you enjoy reclining on the very lawn furniture I dragged from the shed last night!”
“No need to be testy.”
“I’m only ragging you. The tea sounds lovely but I’m short on time. Give Mrs. G. my regrets.”
“All right,” Mary said with a shrug. It was the most physically demonstrative she’d ever been. “No tea. Suit yourself.”
As she pit-a-patted out of the room, Ruby shook her head. Good Lord, her brothers had horrible taste in women. They were lucky she brought Sam into the fold. Their gene pool was going to require some degree of help.
*
The first night at the club: always with a ten-piece band, the same man and woman at the mike. Both of them were Negroes. A couple, or maybe not. Either way, as the party reached its peak, they were marching the saints right on in.
“What a night! What a night!” Sam said, puffing on a cigarette and drinking like a horse.
He was grinning like a loon, too, his face glossed with sweat. His hair, hours ago slicked back, now dipped in chunks across his forehead, the ends kissing his thick black lashes.
“You said it.” Ruby moved onto his lap. “An utter kick.”
She grabbed the cigarette from between his fingers and took a puff as he kissed her neck. Ruby pictured people gasping. Mary would be notably horrified—that is, if she weren’t out on the floor. How Ruby’s sister-in-law could justify a day of convalescing followed by a night spent jitterbugging was a mystery for the ages. For all her manufactured propriety, Mary sure liked to play by her own rules.
“Sitting on my lap?” Sam teased. “In front of all these people?! You’re bad business, Mrs. Packard!”
Ruby giggled and nuzzled a spot where her husband had neglected to shave.
Remember this, she wanted to say. Remember how happy we are. If you go to Europe, it could be a year before we see each other. More. It’s possible we might not meet again until we’re on some other plane.
“My wife, scandalizing the club like she’s on a mission,” Sam said, and shifted awkwardly.
“Please! We’re married!”
Ruby locked her knees together and batted her eyes.
“I’m just an innocent island girl,” she said. “A near-Quaker, like the ones who founded this place.”
As Sam leaned in to kiss her again, Ruby beamed. God, she was happy. So deliriously happy.
Oh, the night had the potential to end badly, it did. In two hours Sam might be passed out on the marital bed, or making sick in Mother’s roses. But Ruby loved him even more when he was like this, filled with light, not ruminating on battleships or gas masks or that awful Hitler and his bombing planes. This Sam reminded her of the one she’d known since she was a girl.
“Come, my love,” he said, boosting Ruby to her feet. “Let’s take those hooves for a spin.”
“Saaaam…” Ruby said, protesting a little.
Her knees ached, her ankles keened. That iron lawn furniture was no joke and she’d moved it all herself. But Ruby followed him nonetheless. Sam was the most splendid dancer. Whenever his shoes began to bop, the room split in two. Everyone wanted to watch him move.
“Long day, my darling?” he asked, detecting the crackle in her ankles as he spun her about the floor.
“The longest. I think the furniture reproduced while we were away. There are more pieces than ever. And the plumber was three hours late to turn on the water! All the while, Mother barked orders and Mary didn’t lift a single craggy talon.”
Sam tipped his head back and laughed.
“Oh Mary,” he said. “Good old Talons Magee. Well, now, what can you expect from Mrs. Philip E. Young, Junior? She’s gestating a future scion of industry in that steel belly of hers. And steel never bends.”
Sam twirled Ruby once beneath his arm, and then again. She was dizzy from the dancing, and the champagne, and the attentions of her very own Cary Grant. Lord, was Sam ever a dreamboat. When you’d known someone most of your life, it was easy to forget.
“Well, Mrs. Packard,” Sam said after sending her toward the floor in a most beguiling dip. “Sounds like you’ve worked the feathers right off your tail. But here you are, dancing with me. And you’ve cleaned up rather well, it should be noted.”
“Oh I try,” she said. “All for my special man.”
He gave her a few more whirls and Ruby’s insides soared straight to the heavens. Soon the band changed its tempo, “God Bless America” on the docket. Ruby checked the clock on the far wall. Dang it all to hell. The party was about to end.
As if reading her thoughts, Sam frowned. But when Ruby looked over her shoulder she realized it was not the clock causing him to glower but her brother, marching straight at them.
“Hello, lovebirds,” Topper said, affecting a drawl. “Mind if I have this dance?”
“I’m grateful for the offer, but you should dance with your sister,” Sam said.
“A real cut-up, this guy.” Topper offered Ruby his arm. “Shall we?”
“Do you mind?” Ruby asked her husband.
“Of course not. Dance on, you two.”
Sam made a circular motion with his hand and Ruby smiled in thanks. Perhaps the chilliness she saw between the men was squarely in her mind.
“You kids have a nice trot,” Sam said. “I’ll be enjoying a smoke near the valet.”
Though he smiled, Ruby noticed that his eyes seemed lost. The brewing of his inner jingoism, no doubt. Ruby watched as he walked off, singing along to the band.
Stand beside her, and guide her, through the night with a light from above.
“What’s the matter, little sis?” Topper said, and placed a hand at the small of her back. “Blue to be with second place? Listen, I’m no Ducky Shincracker like your boy Packard, but I can cut a rug or two.”