The bellman deposited Jax’s valise in the other bedroom and asked, “Will there be anything else, Mr. Addington?”
Mae had only seen her father tip with change, but Jax peeled off several dollar bills and said, “A bottle of Bombay. Bring up some ice and tonic water too. And see if Andrew has any Guinness down there. Tell Andrew I’ll . . .” Jax lowered his voice, and Mae could not hear the rest of what he said.
“Who is Andrew?” she asked when the bellmen left.
“Fella I know that oversees the restaurant in the hotel. Are you hungry?”
“A little bit.”
“Would you like to rest a while, then freshen up and get a bite downstairs? I want to take you car shopping this afternoon if you’re up to it.”
“Are you sure, Jax? All this money . . .”
“It’s nothing—a few dead presidents. Don’t worry about it. I need to go out, but I’ll be back in, say, an hour or two.”
“All right.”
“Don’t forget the bellman’s coming back. He’ll let himself in if you’re in the bath or resting.”
“Okay.”
Jax kissed Mae on the cheek, a quick dry peck. “I’ll see you later, honey. We’ll get you some smart wheels—whatever you want.”
“Thank you, Jax.”
“I must be the luckiest guy in the world.”
When Jax left, Mae sat on the couch in her new home away from home. She did not know if her new husband was the luckiest guy in the world or not, but he certainly was the oddest.
The salesman at Red River Motor Company rushed to greet Jax enthusiastically. “Let me introduce you to my bride,” Jax said proudly.
The salesman shook Mae’s hand. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Addington. Name’s Ralph Cooper, but folks call me Coop.” He winked at Jax and said, “You old dog.” Mae started to give her Christian name, but Coop had already turned his full attention to Jax. “It’s about time you switched to a Chevy, my friend. You been driving that big Caddy around for—how long now? Two, three years?”
“Lord, Coop, not even. The Sixteen’s just fine. We’re here to get something for the missus.”
“Oh, well, in that case, we got in a brand spanking new Sport Roadster that might be just the ticket.” Ignoring Mae entirely, Coop led Jax to a butter yellow two-seat convertible. The black top was down to show off a black cloth interior.
Jax stuck his hands in his pockets and walked around the car slowly. “I like the wire wheels,” he said.
“Those are brand new this year. She has six cylinders under the hood. Blows the Fords right off the road.”
“Mae?” Jax asked.
“Can I talk to you a minute?” Mae asked “Outside?”
“Sure. Sure. Give us a minute, Coop.”
Mae walked outside, and Jax followed. “I know it’s only a Chevrolet,” Jax said when Mae stopped and turned to face him, “but I can get a really good deal from Coop. It’s just so you have something to drive around town for now. I’ll get you into a Caddy later. Or a Lincoln. Whatever you want. I promise.”
“It’s not that. I just . . . I can get by without a car, especially while we’re at the Youree. I can walk or ride the streetcar.”
“Oh, no, that won’t do at all. No wife of mine is slugging around on the streetcar. I won’t have it.”
“Well, it’s a lot of money, is all.”
“You’re gonna have to stop worrying about money, Mae.” Jax grasped her arm lightly. “We’re just getting started. Now, do you like this little breezer, or should we keep looking?”
“I like it. It’s pretty.”
“Okay. Cool your heels and let me go work Coop.”
On their first Sunday as man and wife, Jax drove Mae to First Baptist, where Jax’s parents and Mae’s aunt and uncle attended, and where Mae had gone to church since she moved to town. Jax’s parents, Walter and Lucinda Addington, to whom Uncle Bill had introduced Mae ages ago, were bound to know she had been engaged, as did everyone else at First Baptist. Mae dreaded the sideways glances and whispering gossip she expected to ripple through the congregation when she and Jax came through the door. Mae would be lucky if there was anyone—right down to the mice in the belfry—who did not know that she had jilted her fiancé to marry Jackson Carthage Addington.
Mae had not known Jax’s full name until she stood in the JP’s office in Hot Springs vowing to commit her entire being to him for the rest of her life. That middle name had popped its head up and startled Mae. Not because Jax had a middle name—most everyone did—but because she had not even wondered what it was. In that moment, the name “Carthage” had flashed by her like a warning sign.
“Ooh, I have butterflies,” Mae said as they walked up the steps together. They were late and everyone was already inside. The pipe organ bellowed behind the heavy wooden doors.
“Hey, I’m in the same boat. I haven’t darkened the door here in over a year.”
“But you weren’t engaged!” Mae snapped. She was suddenly irritated that he thought they were in the same situation.
“Hell’s bells, Mae. If it comes up, tell ‘em Buster cheated on you.”
“Jax!”
“Sorry. Heck. Tell ‘em anything you want. They don’t know the difference.”
“Let’s just go inside and get it over with.”
Jax opened the door, unmuffling the righteous, booming pipes of the organ. Not one person glanced their way as they slid into a pew at the back of the sanctuary. Mae should have remembered that First Baptist people were too well mannered to gawk and gossip, at least until they were in the privacy of their own homes.
After church, Walter and Lucinda Addington seemed stunned to silence by Mae’s presence at their Sunday dinner table. They were through the salad course and well into a fine plate of roasted hen and cornbread dressing before Jax’s mother ventured to make small talk. “Mae,” she said. “Jax tells me your father has taken a promotion in Fort Worth. Will y’all be visiting there soon?”
“Maybe later this summer. Mama and my sister are still in Whitesboro. They stayed until school was out, so they’re still packing up for the move.”
“I see.”
They returned to the clink of sterling forks against bone china.
Mae lived like a princess in the Washington Youree Hotel, entirely cocooned from the real world. Jax was often elsewhere when she woke up from a night’s sleep on feather pillows and Egyptian cotton, and his bedroom door was always open when Mae ventured into the sitting room.
The first morning that Mae woke to an empty suite, she went into Jax’s bedroom to investigate. She looked through all the drawers of the bureau and the nightstand. In the nightstand was a dog-eared novel by Dashiell Hammett, The Glass Key. Mae read the first page. She could have settled in and read the whole book if she hadn’t been worried about Jax catching her in his room. She put it back, thinking she should pick up a novel to while away her idle hours. She rummaged through Jax’s closet and found a box from the drugstore on the top shelf. She stood on her tiptoes, reached inside and pulled out a bottle of Pepto-Bismol. There were many more bottles in the box. She went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Besides the shaving cream and razor and toothpaste was a bottle of French cologne, which Mae sniffed. It was nice enough, but Jax wore too much of it. A little less would have been nicer.
Mae usually ate breakfast and read the newspaper in the sitting room. Afterward, she often went to Uncle Bill’s to help out or simply knocked around town until midafternoon when Jax returned. If a new motion picture was playing, they went to see it. Jax’s favorite theater was the Strand, with its wide Magnascope screen. Oftentimes in the evenings, they strolled the sidewalks and window-shopped.
Jax changed his routine from time to time. On those mornings, Mae found his bedroom door closed when she went into the sitting room, and she knew he was sleeping in. He usually emerged in the early afternoon, fully dressed and ready to eat a late lunch and spend time with his wife.
On Saturdays, he was gone all day, and he always left a note on the table beside the vase of fresh flowers. The note read that he missed her terribly and hoped she had a good day, or some version thereof.
Every evening, Mae retired alone to her bedroom, wondering why Jax made no advances beyond chaste kisses on her cheek. He had not kissed her on the lips since the wedding. Much less wanted to neck. Much less gone to bed together. Mae wondered if her new husband had another woman, a mistress or even a prostitute, which no wife worth her salt would tolerate. But every time they were out and about of an afternoon, when Jax crooked his arm and Mae rested her hand on that chicken wing of his, she was grateful he had no interest and she did not care why.
During their first couple of weeks at the Youree, Jax took Mae to all the department stores and introduced her as Mrs. Jackson Carthage Addington to the headmen. Some of them already knew Jax. All of them grasped Mae’s hand gently and bobbed their heads politely. “Mrs. Addington is to have anything she wants. I’m good for it,” Jax told each and every one of them. Mae heard him say it over and over, until she believed it right along with the store managers.
“Take your time shopping for the house,” Jax told her after they made the rounds. “There’s no rush at all.”
“Shouldn’t we pick out the furniture together?”
“Oh, sure. But you’re the boss. Get what you like.”
“Shouldn’t I let you know before I buy something?”
“Surprise me. Say, how does a drive sound this evening? It’s a nice night and only an hour down to Natchitoches. We could have supper at that little Frenchy place and stroll along the river.”
“Sure,” said Mae. “That would be aces.”
Chapter Forty-Five
At their fourth Sunday dinner with the Addington’s, during the salad course, Jax’s father suddenly asked, “Are you two still at the Youree?”
“Yep,” said Jax.
“Well, how in the world—” Walter Addington stopped abruptly. He shook his head but said nothing more the rest of the meal. After dessert, he told Jax he wanted a word with him in the study.
“Sure,” Jax said. “No problem.”
Mae followed Jax’s mother into the parlor. “Go ahead and bring our coffee,” Mrs. Addington told the servant. “No need to wait for the men.”
After a few minutes in the parlor with Mrs. Addington, Mae said, “My goodness, I need to powder my nose.”
“Of course, dear. You know where it is.”
“Yes ma’am.”
In the front foyer, Mae turned left toward the study, instead of a right toward the powder room. She heard Jax and his father talking inside. Mr. Addington said something about “. . . throwing money all over town . . .” Jax responded, but Mae could not make out what he said.
“Does that girl have any idea?” asked Mr. Addington.
“Just stop right there!” Jax hollered. Then something, something, in a low voice.
Mr. Addington said, “I’m not going to . . .” something. Mae moved closer to the door.
“This time, it’s not your concern,” said Jax.
“It’s my name, and I will not permit you to drag it through the dirt any longer. I mean it, Jackson. I’ve had enough of your shenanigans. You are my only son, but you are the sorriest excuse for a man—”
“Go to hell!”
Mae heard footsteps and she scuttled away quickly, rounding the corner into the powder room just as she heard the study door open and slam. She closed the powder room door, her heart pounding. She was panicked over what would become of them—of her house!—if Jax’s father cut him off.
Jax called to her from the foyer. “Mae, get your things. We’re leaving.”
She checked her face in the mirror and relaxed her expression. She opened the door. Jax stood by the front door with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Get your things and tell Mama goodbye. We’re leaving.”
“Well . . . okay . . . just give me a minute.”
“I’ll be in the car.” Jax opened the door and went outside.
Mae went into the parlor and told Mrs. Addington they had to leave. Mrs. Addington patted her hand. “Don’t worry, dear. I’ll see you next week.”
Mae wanted to say goodbye to Jax’s father, but the study door was closed.
During the drive back to the hotel, Jax said nothing. His hands clenched the steering wheel, white-knuckled.
“Is everything okay?” Mae ventured.
Jax looked straight ahead. “Yeah. Sure.”
“You seem angry. Did something happen with your father?”
Jax glanced her way. “My old man’s a pain in the neck. But there’s nothing to worry about. Nothing whatsoever.”
They had a light supper and cocktails on the hotel rooftop that night. Sunday nights were quiet, and there were only a few couples dining. A man in a white jacket played the latest hit songs on a baby grand piano. Jax motioned for the waiter to bring him another Guinness and Mae another gin and tonic.
“This is the life,” Jax said after the waiter brought their drinks. They listened to another song, and Jax said, “What if we stayed here instead of moving into the house?”
“What?”
“I mean live here, at the Youree. We could be footloose and fancy free. We could travel. See Chicago, New York, L.A. We could even travel abroad.”
“What would we do with the house on Alexander Avenue?”
Jax sipped his Guinness and said, “I’d sell it.”
“Gosh.”
“I’m serious. What do you think?”
“Where would the money come from? Enough money to live this way all the time?”
“Let me worry about the money.”
“I don’t know,” Mae said slowly. “I need to think about it.”
“Take all the time you want. There’s no rush at all.”
This had become Jax’s answer to everything, but instead of putting Mae at ease, it unsettled her. Every single time he said it.
The day after the semester ended, while Mae was in Hot Springs marrying Jax, her best friend, Miriam, had boarded a train bound for New York City. From there Miriam had sailed to Europe, where she stayed with cousins in France. She sent a postcard to Mae at Aunt Vida’s house, which Uncle Bill brought to the store and gave to her. God bless him.
Dearest Mae,
I hope you are enjoying summer break. My piano is improving by the day. We took an excursion to the coast to see Nice. It was so beautiful. See you when I get back.
Best,
Miriam
The postcard was a photograph of a long beach with a promenade running its length. Palm trees towered over the boardwalk like frondy umbrellas, and people strolled in their shade. A building with a veranda all around it stood on pilings over the water. It was topped with an ornate dome and spires and looked very exotic.
“I believe that’s a casino,” Uncle Bill said.
“My goodness,” said Mae.
Mae kept the postcard in her purse and took it out from time to time to look at the photograph. She thought about what Jax had said and tried to imagine what it would be like to travel all the way to France and be one of the people strolling on the promenade.
Mae felt as if she had shopped for furniture for the house on Alexander Avenue forever, but she had yet to make a single purchase. She was always thinking the store’s next shipment might contain a couch or loveseat or end table that she liked even better than those she had seen. As much as Mae had wanted the house—enough to marry Jax!—she actually gave serious thought to Jax’s proposition to live at the Youree and travel. But she did not give him an answer.
Mae dashed off a note asking Miriam to call her at the Youree as soon as she returned to Shreveport. “Ask for Suite 601,” Mae wrote. “I’ll explain everything when I see you.” She mailed the note to Miriam’s house, where it would be waiting for her. When Miriam returned from Europe, she telephoned the suite.
“I’ll see you then,” said Miriam, who sounded very, very tired.
Mae picked Miriam up and drove to a corner delicatessen on the outskirts of town. Jax had taken Mae there once, and the place served delicious muffuletta sandwiches. More importantly, Mae knew there was absolutely no chance that she and Miriam would see anyone they knew. During the drive, Mae kept Miriam busy talking about her trip to France. Miriam didn’t ask a single question about Mae’s new yellow convertible or why she was staying at the Youree. She didn’t even ask about the fat diamond on Mae’s hand, although Mae caught her glancing at it more than once.
“This is off the beaten path,” Miriam said when they parked in front of the delicatessen, which was on the wrong side of the railroad tracks and flanked by weathered shotgun houses.
“Wait ‘til you taste the sandwiches. Trust me, you’ll want to come back.”
They went inside and ordered at the counter, then sat down at one of the enameled tables. “The suspense is killing me,” Miriam said. “Did you and Buster get married?”
“Buster took up with another girl,” Mae blurted. She teared up at the terrible lie.
“Mae! No!” Miriam cried.
What else could Mae have possibly said? That Buster wanted her to move back to Whitesboro and live in a crummy little shotgun house that was almost as bad as the ones around the delicatessen? That he wanted her to be satisfied, completely, with being Mrs. Buster Meade and nothing more?
Miriam reached across the table, and Mae took her friend’s hand.
“Oh, Mae, I’m so sorry.”
Mae nodded and brushed a tear from her cheek.
“So, honey, tell me, whose ring is this?”
Mae burst into tears she could not control. She was mortified with embarrassment.
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