by Kari Bovee
“Yes, so we best get to work.” He poured her another glass of champagne, then pulled out a notebook and pencil. Grace leaned in toward the table, her head mere inches from Donovan’s, and became completely engrossed in the task of cowriting her speech.
Chet stirred his drink with the tiny paper straw, keeping his cool while observing the interplay between Grace and Donovan. He hadn’t missed the man’s physical overtures, nor, to his displeasure, Grace’s acceptance of the man’s affection. Occasionally, her eyes lit up or she laughed. She’d never been so animated in conversation with him, and her behavior rankled Chet. Didn’t she see what lurked behind that man’s greedy eyes?
After several glasses of champagne, their meal finally arrived, breaking up the couple’s cozy little tête-à-tête. Grace glanced at Chet and held his gaze for a moment, but quickly turned her attention back to her meal, which gave him the opportunity to study her behavior further. But her blond hair, worn upswept and elegant and glistening in the candlelight, distracted him. He focused on a stray curl that had escaped the twist at the nape of her neck.
Grace took another sip of champagne. Chet could see the effects of the alcohol in her mannerisms—much like Sophia’s, he imagined. Donovan Green, of course, took every opportunity to top off her glass. Grace couldn’t appear before the Chicago crowd well into her cups.
Chet’s dinner arrived, and he took a few bites but couldn’t enjoy it as he watched Grace sip more champagne and stop eating. Green put his notepad aside and concentrated only on his dinner partner.
Lecher.
Grace giggled too loudly, summoning the gazes of the other diners. Unable to watch any more, Chet threw a few bills onto the white tablecloth and walked over to their table.
“What are you doing?” Grace asked, raising glassy eyes to his.
“We arrive in Chicago in about fifteen minutes. Don’t you need to freshen up before your appearance?”
“She shouldn’t change a thing,” Donovan piped up. “She’s lovely the way she is.”
Chet glared at him. “She’s drunk.”
“I’ve never been drunk in my life.” Grace started to stand but collapsed back onto her chair.
“Mr. Riker, my dinner guest is fine. She’s understandably nervous about her first public appearance. I thought the champagne would ease her tension.”
“I do feel wonderful,” Grace said.
Chet looked at her again. “You’re drunk.”
Grace narrowed her eyes at Chet and raised her glass. He took it out of her hands.
Her eyes opened wide in indignation. “Excuse me!”
“C’mon.” He gently took her by the arm.
The publicist stood. “Pardon me, Mr. Riker, but we haven’t finished our meal.”
As Chet pulled Grace to her feet, she swayed against him. “If she can’t make this appearance, you’ll be finished,” Chet snapped. “Isn’t it your job to make her presentable? How could you let this happen?”
“She’s fine,” Donovan protested.
Grace wobbled on her heels as Chet ushered her away from the table. When the train lurched, she held on to the back of chairs to steady herself and nearly fell on a fellow diner.
Once inside her private railcar, she plopped down onto the sofa. Chet pulled the chain for a porter. “You need coffee.”
“I’ve got a headache.” Grace slid down the back of the sofa and lay down.
“Don’t do that.” Chet hurried over and pulled her up. No stranger to the effects of the bubbly, he knew if she moved into a prone position, it would be all over. He propped her up and sat next to her to prevent her from sliding off the sofa.
Someone knocked on the door.
“Come in,” he called.
The Pullman porter entered.
“We need a pot of coffee—fast,” Chet said.
The man nodded and left.
Grace leaned her head against Chet’s shoulder. Drops of perspiration glistened on her forehead and nose. Not good.
“Is it hot in here?” she asked, pulling forward. She tugged at the buttons on her jacket and loosened them. She tried to take the jacket off but struggled with the sleeves. Chet helped ease the fabric off her arms. She slumped back and rested her head on his shoulder again. She mopped her brow. “I don’t feel well.”
“Oh no.” Chet yanked her up and guided her to the bathroom. He stood her over the water closet and held her steady while she wretched and moaned. He grabbed a washcloth, soaked it with cold water, and cleaned her face. When finished, he picked her up and started out of the bathroom to be greeted by the Pullman porter, Lucile, and Donovan Green.
“She’s not going to make her appearance,” Chet said, his eyes leveled on the errant publicist. He exited the bathroom, took her down the small hallway, and tucked her into bed.
Grace’s head hammered when she tried to lift it. To her left, a small shaft of light streamed through the velvet curtains, and the bed rocked and swayed beneath her with the movement of the train, making her unbearably queasy. She felt the urge to go to the bathroom to relieve the queasiness, but it hurt too much to lift her head. She groaned. Her mouth felt as if it were filled with cotton, and her sudden need for water drove her upward, despite the pain and dizziness. She had to have water or she would die!
As she began to crawl out of bed, she noticed a full pitcher and a glass on the nightstand. With shaky hands, she poured herself some water and gulped it down in seconds. She drank until she could drink no more, and her head started to spin again. She flopped back down against the satin covers.
When things seemed a little steadier, she slowly sat up. She was wearing only her day shift and bloomers. When had she undressed? She didn’t even remember going to bed. Sunlight invaded the room as she lifted the edge of the curtain. Daytime.
She rested her head in her hands. What had happened?
A noise at the door made her jerk her head up, which she immediately regretted. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, Chet stood in the doorway, staring at her in her unmentionables. She hurriedly gathered the bedsheets around her.
“How dare you—”
“How do you think you got to bed last night?” Chet smiled and leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. The smirk on his face was infuriating.
Grace cringed at the obvious meaning of his words. Suddenly, everything came back to her: Donovan the publicist, the champagne, getting sick. She groaned and buried her face in the sheets.
Chet laughed, and she peered out of the covers as he walked over to the vanity. He grabbed the stool and sat down, resting his elbows on his knees. “It wasn’t your fault, you know.”
She glanced up at him.
“He shouldn’t have plied you with champagne,” he went on. “I’m just glad I got you out of there when I did.”
The comment irked her. Did he always have to play the knight in shining armor? Then she remembered the speaking engagement. She’d missed her first public appearance because of drunkenness? Shame made her want to sink back under the covers and stay there forever. She had behaved like Sophia. She wanted to cry and would have save for the man who sat on her vanity stool staring at her in her underwear.
“What about my appearance?” Her voice cracked.
“I told the press and well-wishers you had experienced some motion sickness and deeply regretted not being able to make it. They were quite gracious. Some even sent flowers. They’re in the parlor.”
A plausible excuse. “Thank you.”
“It’s what I get paid for.” His words came out clipped, making her bristle.
“I’d like to get dressed now.”
“Good. I’ve ordered your breakfast.”
The thought of food made the blood drain from her face, but she didn’t say another word. Her humiliation couldn’t get any worse. Thoughts of Sophia made her chest ache. Why did she have to die and leave her to carry this burden? Grace immediately shook away her selfish question. And how could she have
thought such a terrible thing of her sister?
“You okay?” Chet’s brow knitted with what appeared to be concern.
She nodded and forced back the tears that threatened to burst forth. She’d never been more miserable. After Chet walked out of the room, she buried her face in the bed sheets again, and sobbed.
When she emerged bathed and dressed an hour later, her breakfast awaited her on the table in the parlor, and Chet was gone. She looked around at a number of the bouquets decorating the room, and guilt bloomed anew like a thorny vine. She’d behaved horribly. She’d been so excited about the plans to visit the orphanage. New Mexico seemed such an exotic place. That, combined with the nervousness of the Chicago appearance had made her lose her head and drink too much.
She managed to swallow a piece of dry toast but couldn’t handle the eggs or bacon. She placed her napkin over them and pushed them away. She tried to remember her schedule for the day but couldn’t think. The smell of bacon and eggs became unbearable. She picked up the plate to deposit it in the hallway.
When she opened the door, Lucile and a beautiful girl with strawberry-blond hair stood before her. “Are you recovered, dear?” Lucile reached for the plate and placed it on the hallway floor.
“I’m feeling better, thank you.”
“Grace, this is Nicole. She will be assisting me on the trip. An associate of mine in Chicago recommended her. I’ve been assured she’s quite capable.” Lucile smiled at the girl, who beamed at the compliment.
Grace’s heart sank. The position that Grace so coveted had been handed to this girl whom Lucile didn’t even know? A wave of disappointment left Grace feeling woozy. “It’s nice to meet you, Nicole,” she forced out as kindly as she could.
The girl quickly turned her eyes to Grace but didn’t say a word.
Grace looked to Lucile for an explanation.
“She’s French and has difficulty speaking English, but I think we’ll get on just fine.”
“It’s nice to have you with us,” Grace tried again.
Still nothing from the girl except another cursory glance and the flicker of a smile. Grace tried to ignore the irritation prickling under her skin.
“Shall we have lunch before setting to work?” Lucile asked. She gathered both girls by the arms.
More food? She’d just been served breakfast!
She didn’t complain, though, and in the dining car, Grace picked at her food and tried to make conversation with Nicole. She didn’t have any more luck than she’d had before, so she listened to the girl and Lucile chat in French.
Later, back in the private car, Grace tried on one of the gowns Lucile had just finished. Just as she emerged from the bedroom wearing it, Chet entered. A bloom of heat rushed up Grace’s neck as she saw the look of admiration on his handsome face. She smiled in complete agreement. The dress was stunning, yet more revealing than anything she’d ever worn before. It plunged low in the front and almost to her hips in back. When she mischievously twirled and saw Chet’s eyes widen, she was struck with warm satisfaction. Having received his appreciative stares before, she suddenly realized she had begun to look forward to them. Many people spoke of her beauty, but no one made her feel beautiful the way he did. She stepped onto the portable wooden platform, and Lucile and Nicole went to work while Chet settled in the corner of the room with a newspaper.
Grace gazed out the window as the two women pinned the hem of her gown. Nicole’s fingers flew, deft and fluid with precision as she pierced the fabric. Somewhere deep inside, Grace hoped Nicole’s seamstress skills would pale in comparison to hers. She glanced over at Chet, who at least pretended to be completely immersed in his paper. Suddenly, guilt festered and grew at her desire for the new girl’s failure. She shouldn’t wish that upon anyone.
“Nicole, how long have you been in America?” Grace asked.
“Three months.” The girl didn’t look at her but remained focused on her work.
“How do you like it?”
“Hmm.” Her voice rose. “I think I like.” Her eyes landed on Chet. He must have felt the stare, as he glanced up from his newspaper and smiled at the girl.
Grace raised her chin, trying to relieve the tightening in her chest. So Chet’s admiring glances weren’t reserved exclusively for her. But why should they be? Why would he be different from any other man? Just like Flo, who thought nothing of seducing women and then leaving them to move on to another. To Chet, Grace remained little more than another pretty face—or worse, a job.
“Lucile, I’m very tired. Will we be finished soon?” She wanted to be alone. She’d almost been caught up in Chet’s charms like a fool, and it made her angry at herself.
“A few more minutes,” Lucile said with a mouthful of pins. Grace stood still while they completed the work. “There, you’re done, darling. Go ahead and change your clothes. Nicole, will you please go to our car and set up my sewing equipment?”
“Yes, madam.”
Grace watched as the girl prepared to leave, then watched Chet smile at her again. The girl waved her fingers at him. Grace’s gaze shifted back to Chet, who responded with an amused grin. She glared at him, turned abruptly, stepped down from the dais, and headed into the bedroom, Lucile following after her.
When she came out again, alone, after Lucile had gone, Chet was still reviewing his paper in silence. She sighed, thinking this arrangement with him so close all the time would probably drive her mad. To divert her thoughts, she took up the art pad and pencils Lucile had brought and began to sketch. As the pencil scratched against the paper, she imagined her visit to the orphanage in New Mexico. Donovan had mentioned something about horseback riding. How would she manage that in the fine gowns Lucile was making for her? She needed something more practical, more . . .
Chet lowered his paper, interrupting her thoughts. She looked up, annoyed to be distracted from the idea that had just popped into her head.
“What do you think of Nicole?” he asked.
“What does it matter what I think?” She lifted her head and narrowed her eyes at him.
“She seems like a nice girl.”
“Didn’t you have to approve her working for Lucile? As my ‘bodyguard,’ I assume you had to interview her or find out about her before she boarded. Isn’t that right?”
“Yes, yes, that’s right.”
“Well, you’ve obviously had more conversation with her than I have. She doesn’t seem to be too interested in anything I have to say.” Grace tried to keep her jealousy at bay. She hoped it wasn’t too obvious.
Just then, there was a knock at the parlor door. Chet got up and answered it. The porter handed him a sealed note. “For Miss Michelle,” he said. Chet took the note and then handed it to Grace. She opened it.
“We should go to the observation car. Get out of here for awhile.” Chet said. “What do you say?”
Grace looked down at her drawing pad. “No, I have some work I’d like to do.”
“Aw, c’mon. The car has nice big windows. The sunshine will do you good.”
She held up the note. “I’m having dinner with Donovan in a few hours. We need to discuss the plans for my upcoming appearances.”
His mouth hardened at her words.
Grace smiled, pleased she’d received the desired reaction.
Chapter Fourteen
JUNE 5, 1920 - KANSAS CITY, MO
The mighty steam engine chugged its way toward the bustling town of Kansas City. As they made their way across the landscape, Grace marveled at the azure-blue skies, miles of golden wheat fields, and open land. Gradually, the scenery transformed and reduced itself down to busy, carriage-laden streets and stoic brick buildings.
Grace and Lucile settled in around the table in the parlor of Grace’s railcar—Lucile sewing intricate beads on one of Grace’s gowns, Grace sketching. Chet appeared engrossed in his newspaper as usual, but Grace knew he was listening to every word of her conversation.
“Where is Nicole this afternoon?” Grace
asked. “I thought she would be here with us.” Grace lifted her eyes to Lucile’s and then glanced at Chet. No reaction.
“Poor girl’s not feeling well. Says she has a headache.”
“Pity,” Grace said, trying not to display her glee at the young woman’s absence.
“Tell me, what does Donovan have planned for you in New Mexico?” Lucile asked.
Grace put down her pencil and leaned in toward Lucile. “There is to be a brunch gala in Flo’s—well, my—honor, at the central railway stop. Some place called the Fred Harvey Hotel and Restaurant.”
Lucile looked up at her with sparking eyes. “The Fred Harvey has a fine reputation. Some friends of mine stayed there while traveling from Los Angeles to Chicago. Wonderful food. And the waitresses’ uniforms are nearly as famous as the hotel. Ankle-length black dresses with white aprons, pinafore style, and a large white bow at the back of their heads.”
“Sounds charming. I’m nervous about the breakfast but excited about the orphanage visit.”
“You’ll be fine, dear.” Lucile bent her head over the beadwork again, concentrating.
Grace knew Lucile had trouble seeing the fine detail—another reason she had hired Nicole—but Grace couldn’t deny the joy she continued to feel at the girl’s absence.
Chet coughed from behind the paper but didn’t move the journal from his face. What was in that paper that could possibly be so engaging?
Grace picked up her pencil and doodled swirls and flourishes, hard lines and angles, waiting for inspiration to hit. Thinking about her visit to the orphanage, Grace tapped the eraser against her chin.
“Lucile,” she said, looking up from her drawings, “I have an idea for my ensemble in New Mexico.”
“Oh?”
“Look.”
Grace finished sketching her idea on the pad and shifted it over to Lucile.
“A riding skirt?”
“Yes. Donovan said we might take a horseback ride to the orphanage.”
“But wouldn’t you prefer jodhpurs? Although, I’m not sure I have the right fabric for jodhpurs.” Lucile studied the drawing with her hand under her chin.
