by Alice Duncan
Swirling around, I said, "Good heavens, no! Robert is a peach. A truly good man. And, as you've noticed, good men are hard to find, especially these days, thanks to the wretched Kaiser and his evil poisoned gas."
"Yes." Regina heaved a heartfelt sigh. "I'm so sorry for everything you've gone through, Daisy."
"Lots of people had it worse than I did." And that was true, even though other people's problems can't possibly affect one the way one's own problems do. I turned back to my closet and grabbed the outfit I'd been aiming for. It was a charming suit of blue wool tweed I'd made about a year before. I thought it would go well with Regina's coloring.
Which was totally blah. We had to do something about that. Heck, I didn't even know what color her eyes were.
"Will you come here for a minute?" I asked, holding up the suit on its hanger. I padded all my hangers, in case you wondered. Not for Daisy Gumm Majesty to treat her home-made clothing with disrespect. My wardrobe was the mainstay of my livelihood and that of my family, after all, so I pampered it.
Regina promptly rose from the chair and walked to me. She glanced at the garment I held and said, "That's very pretty," as if she didn't know what I aimed to do with it.
"I think we're relatively the same size, don't you?"
"I... I... Well, I've never thought about it, but I suppose we are," she said, looking mystified.
"What color are your eyes?" I asked. "It's too dim in here for me to see clearly."
"They're sort of blue-gray."
"Good!"
"Why is that good?"
"Would you like to try this on? It's warm, and I think it will look good on you. It will be perfect for a stint at the library and a luncheon with Robert Browning. The blue of the suit will bring out the color in your eyes"
"I doubt it," she said unhappily. "They're always hidden behind my eyeglasses, so I don't suppose what I wear matters."
"It matters," I told her firmly. "Try on this suit, and if it fits, you'll wear it on Tuesday. Then we'll take a trip to our bathroom and I'll show you what to do with your eyes. Just because you wear eyeglasses is no reason to look dowdy." I considered what I'd so blithely blurted out and was ashamed. "Not that you look dowdy or—"
"Yes, I do," Regina said with a sigh. "And you know it as well as I."
"Very well, we're going to do something about that this very evening."
"Thank you." She sounded entirely too humble.
"Fiddlesticks! Just because you're a librarian doesn't mean you have to wear boring clothes or unbecoming hairstyles. For Pete's sake, you're a very pretty young woman. You only need to do one or two things to play up your looks and downplay your profession, if you know what I mean."
"I thought librarians were supposed to be boring," said she. "Part of the job and all that."
I had to squint hard to make sure she was joking. She was.
"Anyhow, I've never much thought about my appearance. I've never been... well, attractive, you know?"
"Applesauce. Robert Browning must think you're interesting and probably attractive, too, or he'd never have asked you to take luncheon with him. To the best of my knowledge, he hasn't seen any woman at all since his fiancée died, poor man. I think it's wonderful that he's asked you to dine with him."
"He's probably just being nice," said Regina in a resigned-sounding voice.
"Nuts to that! The only reason he asked me to dine with him once was so that he could talk about his late fiancée with a friend. And he didn't even know you until a couple of days ago, did he?"
"No."
"Very well, then. There you go."
"Hmm," said Regina.
Thinking of her probable modesty, I said, "I'll just leave the room for a minute. Tap on the door when you've changed. I'll be right on the other side of it."
"Very well." She sounded not at all sure of herself. Or of me, come to think of it.
Ha. I'd show her. And Robert Browning, too!
Regina looked positively charming in my blue suit! She appeared astounded when she gazed in the mirror and turned this way and that to assess the improvement the color made. Probably any color other than her usual grays, tans and blacks would help her look better than she generally did, although I'd never tell her that. Not in those words, anyhow.
"My goodness, Daisy. Are you sure you don't mind if I borrow this? It'll only be for Tuesday, and I'll return it instantly. I promise I won't drip anything on it."
"Don't worry about that. I bought that material on sale at Maxime's Fabrics when they were getting rid of their winter merchandise for lighter, spring- and summer-weight fabrics."
"Do you really make all your clothes?"
"I do. I sew for the entire family. Including Spike, who doesn't like it much. But he does look adorable in the red coat I sewed for him last year. For walking during the colder winter months, you know. Not that it ever gets very cold in Pasadena."
"Good heavens. A black dachshund in a red coat. Amazing." She turned and grasped both of my hands. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Daisy. You have so many admirable qualities, and you're so clever."
"You really think so?" I asked doubtfully. "Maybe you should tell Sam Rotondo that. I only seem to drive him crazy most of the time."
"He must love you. The two of you are engaged to marry, aren't you?"
"Hmm. You're right. I guess I don't drive him too crazy."
"This is so pretty," she said, staring into the mirror once more, gazing at the blue suit and herself, her eyes getting a trifle misty. "Thank you so much."
"You're welcome. But get out of that now, and I'll take you to the bathroom where some implements of my magical arts are stored."
Because she appeared startled, I laughed and said, "Don't worry. I'm only going to see if I can help you with your hair. And your face. A little rouge and face powder will enhance your natural good looks, and I'm sure the library big-wigs won't mind."
"Ha," she said.
"I mean it! You're a lovely woman, Regina. You just don't know how to make the most of what you have."
After heaving a huge sigh she said, "I hope you're right."
"I know I'm right. I'll be right outside the door. When you're finished, just tap, and I'll whisk you away to my lair."
She laughed as I shut the door. Vi had taken over the kitchen in order to prepare her Russian whatevers for dinner. She smiled at me. "Sounds like you have company in there and that you're having fun."
"I do, and we are. Miss Petrie, my favorite librarian, is dining with us tonight. I asked you if it was all right, remember?"
"Of course! You know I love cooking for a large crowd. Although this one won't be very large, I guess. But we'll only have two extra guests. I consider Sam a member of the family already." She gave me a mischievous smile, which I opted to ignore.
"Right. I'll set the table as soon as I get Regina fixed up."
"That's right. Her first name is Regina, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is. And I'm remodeling her." I kind of liked that expression of intent.
"Remodeling her? What in the world does that mean, Daisy Majesty?"
I guess Vi didn't appreciate my expression of intent as much as I did. "Oh, I'm only letting her borrow a blue suit and I'm going to help her with her hair and give her a few makeup tips and so forth."
"Hmm. Well, if anyone can do it, I guess it's you. You do more with less than anyone else I've ever met."
I gazed at my aunt for a minute. "I'm not sure what you mean by that, Vi. Do you mean I'm ugly but manage to fix myself up so nobody notices? I know I'm not beautiful, but—"
Vi burst out laughing. "Lord, Daisy! Of course that's not what I meant. I just mean that you always look wonderful. You know how to sew beautiful clothing, and you make yourself up so that you fit your profession better than anyone else I've ever known."
"Oh. Thanks, Vi. That's nice of you. I really do try you know."
"I know it, sweetheart. And you succeed admirably. Why, half the time wh
en you go off to a séance or something, you look ghostlike yourself."
Smiling, I said, "Thanks! I aim for the pale-and-interesting look."
"You achieve it well."
"Thank you. I'll set the table as soon as I fiddle with Regina's hair and face a little."
Vi shook her head. "My stars, Daisy, but you do have odd gifts."
"So do you. Only yours aren't odd. They're delicious."
"We each have our own talents," said Vi.
Thinking of my mother and her accounting skills, Vi with her cooking genius, Gladys Fellowes and her mathematical abilities, Regina Petrie with her scholarly bent, and Robert Browning with his scientific leanings, I said, "Yes. I guess we all do." Mine were probably the least important of those listed, but at least I could use them to make a pretty good living.
Regina tapped on the door, and I opened it. She stepped into the kitchen and I introduced her to Vi. Vi was thrilled to meet the woman who'd been supplying us with such marvelous books for so long and told Regina so. Regina's cheeks turned pink, so I presume she was pleased with Vi's commendation.
"Daisy's told me about what a wonderful cook you are, Mrs. Gumm. It's so nice of you to have me over for dinner."
"Nonsense. I love guests!" said Vi.
She meant it sincerely, I assured Regina as I led her to the bathroom.
Chapter 18
A knock came at our door at approximately five forty-five. I expected the knock to have been perpetrated by Sam, because I doubted Frank would dare touch anything at all while in the custody of his uncle. By that time Regina had been almost totally transformed. Almost, because she wasn't sure she could re-create my initial creation.
I'd taken her hair down from its usual bun and swept it back behind her ears. I'd also powdered her face, smoothed on a bit of rouge—only a bit, because neither of us wanted her to appear gaudy—used some eyebrow pencil on her eyebrows and some mascara on her lashes. She truly looked pretty, even with her spectacles. "See?" I said. "I knew you to be a lovely woman. You only need to do a few things to yourself. And it didn't take much time at all, did it?"
"Thank you. No, it didn't take much time." Peering at herself doubtfully, she said, "I only hope I'm able to do the same thing at home."
"Just keep practicing. I'll lend you my extra eyebrow pencil, and I'll pick up some mascara for you at the drug store on Monday. I'll take you to a beauty parlor to get a haircut. You'd look wonderful in one of the shorter hairdos, especially since your hair has a natural wave to it. You don't need to go as far as a short, straight bob, but shorter hair would probably be easier to care for. Then we can go shopping together sometime next week, and we can refurbish your wardrobe. Or, if you can't afford a bunch of new clothes, I can make you some."
"I can't ask you to do that!" said Regina, clearly horrified.
"You didn't ask. I offered. I love to sew. It's about the only thing I'm good at in this life, and I enjoy doing it."
"Nonsense. You have so many talents, I can't even count them."
I'd bet I could, but I didn't offer. Rather, I got to the front door slightly after Spike did, told my well-behaved hound to sit and stay, and opened the door. I was right. There was Sam, smiling almost merrily; and Frank, who wasn't. Smiling, I mean—merrily or otherwise.
"Good evening, Sam! Glad to see you again, Frank." I don't suppose God would get me for that little stretcher.
But really. There he was: shoulders slumped, hands stuffed into his coat pockets, hair slicked back, pouty, and looking as much like a New York hoodlum as any I'd seen depicted in the newspapers or magazines—and newspapers and magazines were always showing photos of New York hoodlums. They and their counterparts in Chicago were getting downright famous, thanks to Prohibition and the bootleggers determined to undermine the Volstead Act by providing illegal liquor to fools like Stacy Kincaid and her ilk. Perhaps infamous would be a better word.
"Lovely to be here," said Sam, ever so much more cheerfully than was customary for him. He glanced significantly at Frank, who looked back at him, then started like a scared rabbit.
Quickly, he said, "Likewise," and shut his mouth.
"Likewise what?" Asked his uncle, smiling a smile I wouldn't have wanted directed at me.
"Likewise, ma'am."
"Good enough. Is there anything we can do to help you and your aunt get dinner ready?" asked Sam. I do believe it was the very first time he'd ever offered to help us. Not that he wouldn't have pitched in if asked, but he was clearly attempting to irritate his uncouth nephew. His tactics seemed to be working, because Frank kept sliding looks at Sam as if he didn't dare put one foot wrong for fear of having his head caved in, or at least permanently bruised.
"Not a thing, thanks. Just come on inside, and I'll introduce Frank to Miss Petrie. Miss Petrie," I explained to Frank, "is my favorite librarian at the Pasadena Public Library."
"Uh," said Frank.
"Good evening, Sam and Mr. Pagano," said Pa, grinning genially. Pa liked everyone until given reason not to. So far, Frank had only pilfered one silver candlestick—at least that's all we knew about—so Pa was giving him the benefit of the doubt.
I'm not as nice as my father.
"Good evening, Joe," said Sam, giving Pa a handshake that looked positively ebullient. I tell you, dealing with his beastly nephew was good for the man! I was pleased about it.
"Oh, Sam!" said Ma, beaming a smile and coming into the living room. "It's so good to see you. And you, too, young man." She didn't smile when she turned her gaze upon Frank. Unlike my father, Ma didn't give folks too many chances. They had to measure up to her standards before she'd like them. I'm more like my mother than my father in that regard.
"Thank you," mumbled Frank. After shooting his uncle a frightened glance, he added, "Ma'am."
"Happy to be here again, Peggy," said Sam, who had only recently begun calling my kin by their first names. "Frank's a lucky boy, to get to dine with you folks. If he relied on me, he'd be eating bologna sandwiches."
"Huh," said Frank. I guess the utterance of that particular word ran in the family.
"What's bologna?" I asked, curious. That's because he pronounced balonya.
"I think you non-Italians call it boloney," said Sam, grinning at me. Then he bent and gave me a smooch on the cheek. I tell you, the man was almost jolly!
"I like the occasional boloney sandwich," said Pa.
"Me, too," I said. "But why do you call it balonya?"
"I suspect because it's originally from Bologna," said Sam. "The town in Italy."
"My goodness. I didn't know that. But I do like a boloney sandwich every now and then."
"Yes, but you wouldn't enjoy eating them all day every day, I suspect," said Sam, smiling up a storm.
"Probably not," Pa agreed.
"And here's Miss Petrie," I said, dropping the topic of boloney. "You remember Miss Petrie, don't you, Sam?"
"Of course, I do." Darned if he didn't execute a perfect little bow! "How do you do this evening, Miss Petrie?"
Looking as if she were about to sink into the basement through the living-room floor, Regina stuttered, "I-I'm fine, thank you. It's good to see you again, Detective Rotondo." She held out her hand, and Sam shook it with gusto.
"Shoot, just call me Sam," said Sam. "You're looking lovely this evening, Miss Petrie."
"Oh," said Regina, blushing. "Thank you. Daisy did it."
Sam gave me an odd look. I only smiled back. He shrugged.
"And this"—said he, giving Frank a pat on the back that darned near sent the boy sailing into the dining room—"is my nephew, Frank Pagano. Say good evening to the lady, Frank."
"Good evening."
"Good evening, what?" asked Sam, the smile for his nephew taking on a deadly cast.
"Good evening, ma'am," said Frank. Then he gulped audibly and looked at his uncle. Sam patted Frank's shoulder several times. They looked like awfully hard pats to me. Poor Frank. If he didn't already regret his rash escape from home,
he would soon I had no doubt.
"Good evening, Mr. Pagano," said Regina softly, as if she didn't dare raise her voice. Library training, I suppose.
Again, Frank said, "Good evening"—He gave his uncle a terrified look—"ma'am."
"How's your leg feeling, Sam? I notice you're not using your cane this evening," said Pa, glancing at Sam's empty right hand.
By the expression on Sam's face, the question surprised him. He looked around as if searching for his cane and then said, "It hasn't bothered me much at all these past couple of days. I'll be darned. I haven't even thought about it."
"I'm so glad!" said I, wondering if dealing with his nephew was having a healing effect on Sam's overall wellbeing. "Here. Let me take your hats and coats and hang them on the rack."
"Frank can do that," said Sam, grinning evilly at his nephew. "Can't you, Frank?"
"Yes, sir," said Frank, instantly sliding out of his overcoat and reaching for his uncle's. He helped Sam off with his coat, hung both garments carefully on the rack, and then took Sam's hat and added it to his on the same coat rack. That evening, I do believe that poor rack held more garments than it ever had except on holidays when the whole family gathered at our house.
Rubbing his hands together in anticipation, Sam lifted his voice slightly and said, "Whatever you're cooking smells mighty good, Vi."
"Thank you!" called Vi from the kitchen.
"Why don't you fellows and Regina and Ma have a seat in the living room while I help Vi get dinner on the table," said I.
"You don't need Frank's help?" asked Sam, as if hoping for a positive response.
But I thought Frank would probably be more trouble than he was worth, so I said, "No, thank you. But I appreciate the offer."
"You're welcome," said Sam, eyeing his nephew with disfavor.
"Uh," said Frank.
I watched as Frank slunk into the living room behind my father and his uncle. He made a move to sit in one of the chairs, but Sam grabbed his arm and held him upright until my mother and Regina entered the room and sat themselves on the sofa. Then Sam more or less shoved Frank into the chair he'd been aiming for earlier. The kid was certainly getting lessons in manners. And from Sam Rotondo, of all people!
