The Girl in White Gloves

by Kerri Maher

  “I miss those days,” Grace said, though it wasn’t exactly true. She missed some things about those days—the sense that everything and anything was possible, that she was young and had plenty of time.

  “Are you all right, Gracie?” Maree asked, her voice full of concern.

  Why had she called her friend in the first place? Was she really going to admit all her fears and frustrations now? Everything was dammed up below her throat, the stormy waters raging in her chest and arms, all the way down to her legs. She felt like she might drown from within. What a relief it would be to open the floodgates.

  Grace smiled and swallowed. “Of course I’m fine,” she said. “Just exhausted.” Then she proceeded to pummel her friend with questions about her life as they drank wine and ate chow mein and moo shu pork with chopsticks, to avoid saying anything but the bare minimum about her own life. When Maree asked questions, Grace sidestepped them. Do your parents like Rainier? How could they not? You haven’t even announced the engagement yet and the press is all over you—can I help? Oh, it’s not as bad as all that. Thank goodness for this fortress of a building and taxis! Are you happy? Happier than I’ve ever been.

  While they were eating, a messenger arrived with a large envelope emblazoned with Rainier’s crest, and Grace knew exactly what it was. Setting it aside, she finished her lunch with Maree, though she felt the envelope’s contents taunting her the whole time.

  “Grace, are you sure everything is okay?” asked Maree.

  I could tell her. Maybe she’d understand. But who could ever understand my father? And what it’s like to be engaged to a goddamn prince? “Truly, I’m fine,” she replied, fiddling nervously with the hemstitched edge of her pale blue linen napkins. “I’m sorry if I’ve been distracted.”

  Grace knew that Maree could sense there was another truth below the surface of her words. Her friend cocked an eyebrow ever so slightly and seemed to be searching for the right things to say. “I’m here if you need me, Grace. For anything.”

  “Thank you,” said Grace, her voice clogged with emotion. She cleared it, and added, “I suppose I’m getting some hay fever on top of it all.”

  “Take care of yourself, Grace. I mean it. Get some sleep. Eat an apple. Call your friends.”

  “I’ll try,” Grace said, suddenly anxious to have this imploring friend gone. Maree was making her uncomfortable. “In fact, maybe I’ll lie down for a nap now.”

  “Good idea,” Maree said, stroking Grace’s arm.

  As soon as Maree was gone, however, Grace tore open the fat envelope that had arrived during lunch. The contract. Skimming, she quickly found the sections her father had objected to; then she skimmed the rest to see if there was any reference to her acting.

  Nothing. But she couldn’t sigh with relief, because there was a terrible surprise lurking instead: should the marriage end for any reason, their children would remain in Monaco with Rainer. She’d be relinquishing all rights to them. Again, a tempest raged inside her.

  She closed her eyes and breathed slowly and deliberately, the air inflating her chest. And she prayed, as she had not prayed since she was a much younger girl, the girl who believed that God guided all her footsteps down the right path. These days, she knew she alone put one foot in front of the other, but in that moment, she felt she needed all the help she could get. In her mind, she pictured herself and Rainier with their children, golden from the sun, sticky from ice-cream cones, enjoying that “carefree stage of life” she and Rainier had not experienced with their own families but were determined to share with their own children. The storm inside her quieted a bit.

  That evening, before she met Rainier for dinner, she prepared to call her father back by putting on her best armor—a stunning green brocade design of Edith’s, pearls at her neck, diamonds on her ears, and white gloves on her hands. He should have had at least one whiskey by now.

  “Daddy,” she said, cutting to the chase, “I’ll pay the dowry.”

  “No,” he said firmly. Then, after a beat, he added, “What would people say?”

  “No one has to know,” she said.

  “You really have that much dough?”

  She wanted to relish the surprise in his voice, which had the flavor of being more impressed than floored. But instead, she found she was full of anger. Yes, Daddy, Mother taught me to be frugal—always having to accept Peggy’s castoffs as my own wardrobe—at the same time you were teaching me I was never enough unless I was the best. I was listening. I learned.

  “I can take care of it,” she said. Then will you be proud of me?

  There was silence on the other end of the line, the tinkle of ice in a glass. A swallow. Then he cleared his throat and said, his tone softer, “As it happens, your mother and I were just talking about this when you called. We can pay the dowry if Rainier agrees to have the wedding in Philadelphia.”

  She almost laughed at her parents’ provincial negotiating. There was no way the wedding could be anywhere other than Monaco—only Margaret Kelly didn’t seem to understand that the world would expect to see this wedding in the faraway fairyland Grace would soon rule over with her husband. And both of her parents appeared oblivious to the fact that this was her wedding, not theirs. Though I suppose that’s hardly surprising, she thought bitterly. With the same fierceness she’d felt talking to Jay about MGM, she knew this was true: she was offering to pay the money so they didn’t get to make demands. Besides, there was something much bigger than a wedding location she wanted from that contract, and she wasn’t going to waste her capital on something that would make only her parents happy.

  “Daddy, the location is fixed,” Grace replied as gently as her gritted teeth would allow. “The wedding must be in Monaco. Can you put Mother on?”

  In a moment, her mother had picked up the other house line in their bedroom, but didn’t greet her daughter with any words, only an audible huff. “Mother, think how gorgeous it will be to get married in a cathedral overlooking the Mediterranean, among paintings and sculptures older than the Liberty Bell. It will be so glamorous and exotic, and you’ll be the mother of the bride! The most important woman present. What would the dowagers at the Merion say about that?”

  She waited, breathless.

  It was quiet for a while.

  Then it was her father who spoke, irascibly. “Grace is right, Margaret. I was saying the same thing to you earlier.”

  Imagine that. It seemed the mere prospect of this wedding had turned everything in the world inside out.

  “Fine,” said Margaret, and Grace knew her lips were pursed. “I know when I’m outnumbered.”

  “Thank you for understanding, Mother,” gushed Grace. “We’ll arrange a time to look at the spring dress collections very soon. I want to get you the most wonderful ensembles for all the events!”

  She heard her mother hang up the phone, and then it was just Grace and her father again.

  “I can’t let you pay this guy,” her father said. “It just wouldn’t be right. But neither is him asking for it.”

  Ignoring her father’s argument, for she knew there was no way she’d convince him otherwise, Grace went to her plan B: “How about you contribute one million, and I contribute the other? I don’t know how much you have, but I certainly don’t want to endanger your and Mother’s retirement. And that way, if you want to crab about the dowry to all your cronies, you won’t be lying about paying Grace’s husband a fortune to marry her off.” She hoped it was time for a little humor. She even crossed the index and middle fingers of her left hand; the right one was tightly clutching the receiver. Oliver sat patiently at her feet, wagging his tail in the hopes that she might play kitchen fetch with him soon.

  “Is this how you got your contract done with Dore?” her father asked.

  “Something like it,” she replied, removing one glove and bending down to pet Oliver’s head and ear. He
licked her wrist.

  “Then you’re more my daughter than I realized. Done, Gracie. I hope he’s worth it.”

  He’s shown me more understanding than you ever have.

  “He is, Daddy. You’ll see.”

  There. One down, one to go.

  * * *

  The champagne-and-oyster course done, glasses of a deep garnet red sat before them as they awaited their holiday roast—a rich meal Grace could hardly fathom even nibbling in a ladylike fashion after so many other festivities and so little sleep and exercise, none of her usual long walks outside in the fresh air because of the threat of reporters. There was a brief lull in her conversation with Rainier, and she knew that now was the time to broach the topic.

  “I received the parcel today,” she said as lightly as she could.

  Rainier gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry our happiness is being held up by meaningless paperwork.”

  Yes, yes, the meaningless paperwork that will determine the course of the rest of my life. “Thank you, darling,” she said soothingly, “I agree. It’s maddening. I want you to know that Daddy was quite put out about the dowry, but I helped him see sense.”

  “I knew you would,” he said, and she detected significant relief in his tone. She’d saved him a great deal of unpleasantness, and she hoped that knowledge would put him in the right frame of mind for her request. “And I want you to know,” he went on, “that if it was up to me, we would dispense with such arcane practices. But the principality demands it.”

  Grace nodded. “I understand completely, and I know how hard you are working to modernize Monaco.” She put her hand on his, and he immediately laced his fingers through hers. She felt heat and promise there.

  “I am so lucky to have found you,” he said.

  She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek—it was more than a peck, and she took her time to breathe softly and suggestively in his ear. She felt his body tighten. Pulling away, she took a coquettish sip of wine and said, “I’m afraid my mother is still fuming about the wedding being in Monaco instead of Philadelphia, but I suspect it’s nothing that a little shopping won’t cure.”

  “I have also sent your mother a token,” Rainier rushed to put in, “which she ought to have received today, that I hope will help her forgive me on that score.”

  “I’m sure it will,” she cooed. “She just wants to feel recognized, I think. Thank you for thinking of it, Rainier.”

  “I also noticed that your father appreciates good whiskey, so I had a case of the best Irish sent to him as well, along with a gold flask, to prove that the dowry isn’t because I’m broke.” At this, he smiled as if he’d just made a joke, and Grace giggled on cue, but she did think it was curious that her father and Rainier had both thought so alike on this subject. She couldn’t dwell on that now, however; she had to stay focused. So far, the conversation was going well.

  “Perfect,” she said, moving her hand to his forearm. “There was one other thing in the parcel I wanted to discuss with you, though.”

  “Of course,” he said lavishly, entirely focused on her, as if every word she uttered was the most important he’d ever heard.

  “It’s more than a question, I’m afraid,” she said, biting her lower lip and withdrawing her hand to fold it with the other in her lap. “It’s about the children.”

  “The subject of the children is not negotiable,” he said, not unkindly but firmly.

  “Please try to see this from my perspective, Rainier. The way it’s written now—if you were to die, I would have to stay in Monaco with the children.”

  He nodded. “Because you would be the sovereign Princess. You would have to help our son rule the principality until he came of age, and raise our daughters to be well-regarded Princesses.”

  She had to admit, she had not thought about that—the fact that she would be in charge of Monaco if Rainier were to die before their child was old enough to take over. Now instead of feeling anger and anxiety, she felt fear. She didn’t want power like that. But at the same time, she felt certain she would be able to take on the mantle if it meant helping her child.

  “I hate to discuss these matters,” she went on, changing tactic slightly. “I especially hate it when all I want is for both of us to be happy. But I must think of myself in some respects. I’ve been in charge of my own life for so long, including reading contracts. And of course, I think the world of you and believe you have no intention of doing me any harm. But what if . . . what if you were to leave me? It would add horrible insult to injury if I was cast out of your home and I lost my children at the same time. I beg you to consider this now, while our love is strong.”

  Rainier was impossible to read. He was still listening to her intently, but his face betrayed no emotion. This, more than anything else in their extraordinary courtship, gave her pause. Could she marry a man she didn’t yet know inside and out?

  Of course I can, she answered herself immediately. How dull to have already learned all of your spouse’s quirks and foibles by the time you walked down the aisle. How much more exciting to be at the start of learning about each other, with so many wonderful surprises in store. Her father was a man of big, obvious moods, as were Don and Oleg. Rainier would be a challenge, and this excited her.

  “You raise a good point,” he finally said. “And I am sensitive to it because of the plight of my own mother.” Grace had been counting on this and hoped she had calculated correctly.

  “And so I agree with you on this—to a point. But what if you leave me? Then you are effectively leaving the principality, because it and I, and my children, are one.”

  Again, her lack of royal training had made her unprepared to reply to this argument, which she could understand from a certain point of view. She wanted to argue, to say that he and his country were not the same thing, but she knew that this was a matter of perspective. To her, an American girl born and raised in the City of Brotherly Love, where the very Declaration of Independence from monarchy had been signed, Prince Rainier was not Monaco. He was a man who loved her, whom she loved in return. But to him, raised in a tradition of warriors and treacherous crown stealers, it had to be that the Prince was the Principality.

  He continued. “But I do see that if I choose to leave you, it’s not the same thing as you leaving Monaco. So,” he said with a nod of resolve, “I will ask my lawyer to change the paragraph to say that if the Princess leaves the marriage and thus Monaco, she will also be forgoing the children. But if the marriage ends for other reasons, you will have rights to see the children.”

  She knew this was the best she was going to get out of this conversation; she’d been prepared for the possibility that he would not budge at all. So she kissed him on the cheek, said, “I am very grateful to you for seeing my perspective, darling,” then changed the subject.

  There was still one more test left that evening—one she was to administer and was sure he didn’t realize he was taking. Privately, though, she’d told herself that if he didn’t pass, she’d consider backing out of the engagement altogether. Because how could she marry a man who had the power to take her children but not deliver any pleasure, who refused to break any rules for her? The decision, and promise to herself, made her feel powerful.

  “Come home with me tonight,” she murmured in his ear as the taxi back to his hotel sat in traffic overflowing from Carnegie Hall. It seemed a lifetime ago that she had gone there every morning for classes at the Academy. She put her hand as high on his leg as she dared, and felt him shift uncomfortably in his seat.

  “We shouldn’t,” he said, but his voice was thick with lust, and she could tell he was considering it.

  “We’ll be married soon enough,” she said, beginning to bite his ear very gently. “As long as you don’t mind wearing a—”

  He stopped her talking by kissing her on the mouth with a hunger that completely took her
by surprise. Soon they were in her bed on Fifth Avenue, their evening wear haphazardly strewn between the door and her room, popped buttons and all, and he was passing her unspoken test with flying colors. His lovemaking was a delicious mix of rough and gentle, his body firm and strong. He gloried in her long legs, cupped her small breasts in his hands as if they were abundant, all he’d ever need.

  What were the chances she’d ever leave this man anyway? This intelligent, witty, thoughtful man who was also a marvelous lover. She fell asleep to a soothing reverie of Rainier and their adorable children—one girl and one boy—coming to visit her on the set of another Hitchcock movie. No, better, a Broadway play. She could show the children how the pulleys that controlled the curtains worked—children always loved that. Her life would be complete at last.

  Chapter 27

  Her parents’ house on Henry Avenue was decked out like a movie studio. The bedrooms and bathrooms had been made into greenrooms and dressing rooms, and in the living room, all the wood had been polished to a ruddy gleam, the porcelain lamps and vases and assorted other knickknacks dusted and shiny—the curtains had been steamed and the pillows fluffed. A few side tables and other antiques had been rearranged by the photographer for “balance and maximum effect,” much to her mother’s chagrin. This aspersion on her decorating was the only thing that troubled Margaret Majer Kelly that chaotic day—she was otherwise happier and more full of purpose in preparation for this press conference than Grace had seen her at even her siblings’ weddings. “Isn’t this amazing?” Grace heard her say to her father. “Our house, our family, in little old East Falls will be broadcast around the world.” Yes, thought Grace to herself wryly, her mother seemed to have embraced the international concept of her daughter’s wedding pretty quickly.

  Upstairs, Grace stole a few minutes to herself in her childhood bedroom, the place she’d shed so many tears about school friends, then boys—Don! That saga seemed like a lifetime ago. Her mother hadn’t thrown out her precious dolls, the ones that had kept her company on so many lonely afternoons. They took direction so well, she laughed to herself, remembering the plays she’d staged with them. She’d toted them every summer to the shore so they could be her playmates there as well, and they showed all these signs of use in their lilting eyelids, the cracked paint on their lips. Grace felt her nose get stuffy and wet heat needle her eyes at the memory of these dolls’ company.