Glimmer As You Can

by Danielle Martin

  Lisa pushed back her cuticles; her own nails were painted a five-cent shade of pink. “The truth?”

  Madeline grew quiet. She had looked much younger an hour ago, when she had greeted everyone at the door with a sense of sensational vibrancy. Now her face dimmed as she cleared her throat, deflecting the question. “So, what do you have there?” She flicked the photograph in Lisa’s hand.

  “Oh!” Lisa brightened. “This is the picture I took from my trip to India! The tip of Europe, from way up high. Can you make it out? I think it’s Spain. Isn’t it amazing?”

  “It’s beautiful,” Madeline answered, and she seemed to mean it. “What’s it like—going all these different places on an airplane?”

  “I love it. Have you ever been on a plane?”

  “Never. Fred went on trips, but he never wanted me to come with him.”

  “Oh.”

  Madeline smiled. “Maybe one day I’ll take a trip. I’ve always wanted to go to England, you know. Wouldn’t it be a delight to be surrounded with so many beautiful accents at once? I know I just can’t get enough of listening to Elaine.”

  “Yeah.” Distracted, Lisa glanced toward the front entrance. Billy could be roaming the neighborhood, just stewing. She let out a large exhalation as she moved to the dance floor for another dance.

  When she turned back to the literary circle, she looked for poor Jackie, to say good-bye—but Jackie had already disappeared from the Starlite.

  35

  Elaine

  Elaine had completed her thousandth delay tactic of the evening— cleaning out her wastepaper basket, riffling through her drawer.

  The brownstone would be empty if she went home.

  She dawdled on the sidewalk, looking in the windows of Midtown shops. Outside the movie theater, she stared at the marquee. Women didn’t usually attend the pictures alone, but the images generated by Hollywood loomed so large on the screen that it would be an escape to allow herself to fall right into them.

  She stood outside the movie theater and got in line to pay for her ticket.

  A hawker moved past the ticket line, selling the late edition of the rival paper to the Chronicle at a discount rate because it was the end of the day. This other paper had a bit of a lowbrow feel with its “society pages”—a gossip column in disguise—but Elaine could immerse herself in some dirt now. Dirt was a distraction.

  The society pages were a few pages in; she flipped to them and gasped.

  There was something in here about Madeline.

  A story about her and Fred. No lurid details, yet the implications were clear. Fred had been cohabitating with another woman for many years while Madeline played the role of his innocent wife. There had been other women, too, for years before their divorce.

  Madeline was a skilled actress, then. Even better than the ones in the pictures.

  There was even a suggestion in the story that Madeline suspected Fred in the vandalism to her shop.

  Elaine’s own friend—in the news!

  She would telephone her, but she knew how abrasive the ring of the phone could be during a time of turmoil. It would do her a service to give her some space. She would see Madeline soon enough, in person.

  The article was sure to bring her friend a lot of attention. Madeline’s style would likely be to minimize it all—to enact the role of proceeding as normal.

  Elaine didn’t have those skills of an actress. She was “emaciated,” according to everybody. She was “extremely pale.” Everyone continued to hover over her with worry, even though it had been weeks since Tommy died.

  Elaine would eat some extra popcorn at the film tonight. She would force herself to navigate the greasy kernels, though eating anything left her doubled over in cramps later.

  But even as she paid for her movie ticket, she couldn’t stop staring at Madeline’s name in the society pages.

  The Starlite would get attention.

  It wouldn’t be their enclave any longer.

  36

  Madeline

  Madeline hadn’t seen the article yet.

  After a full weekend of being a social butterfly and dress shop owner, she needed a day to herself to get organized. She had started closing the shop on Mondays. Harriet was happy to have the day off.

  As the surrounding commercial district buzzed with business and activity, her shop was quiet. Only muted sounds of car horns and pedestrians entered from the outside as the racks lay undisturbed. It was a stark contrast to the thump of the social club in full swing, when the rest of the neighborhood sat empty, silenced for the night.

  On this Monday, she lolled about in the silkiness of her satin robe as she applied cold cream to her face in her back room. She had finally saved up a little money to get her own apartment, but for now, she would stay here. To move somewhere else would require a great upheaval.

  Though Fred had to know her whereabouts, and she had told that society reporter everything about them—about him.

  Everything would come out soon.

  Madeline flipped on her little television in a flash. But her own story wouldn’t make broadcast news. Instead she watched a startling scene from Cape Canaveral of the satellite that had been launched earlier today, headed straight to the moon.

  Life was becoming so big, everything so expansive. Things used to be small.

  Inside her own beautiful little shop, she could rest. She could shut out the outside world. Though she didn’t have much in the way of food—only a can of beans, which wouldn’t suffice for a full day.

  The local luncheonette was always good for a sandwich and a soda. She would exit her enclave and head into the world.

  It was raining. Even with the protection of an umbrella, her fresh curls lost their bounce. She shook her wet head like a puppy to dry out as she walked at a brisk pace. Cars splashed water from the edges of their wheels and soaked her stockings.

  “Late edition! Late edition!” The newspaper man barked extra loud underneath his roomy umbrella as he brandished copies of the paper, wrapped up in plastic. Madeline handed him a dime, which she passed beneath their umbrellas.

  Her fingers shook in the cold rain as she carried the paper beneath her poncho, making her way to the luncheonette.

  It was almost empty in the restaurant, so she took a little booth for herself, then pulled out the paper. She kept to the front page at first, her eyes on the space shuttle. But soon she moved in a rush of flips to the gossip section as her soggy fingers smudged the newsprint.

  HE DID WHAT? INDISCRETIONS OF COUNCILMAN UP FOR RE-ELECTION!

  It was the lead story.

  Everything was in black and white for the world to see:

  Fred’s dalliances with other women. The way he had made her pretend to be his wife. The way he had mishandled their divorce.

  Even the fact that he might have been snooping at the window of the Starlite a couple of weeks before the rock was hurled through the window.

  The Starlite, a private social club for women, was violated by this act of vandalism, which may or may not be connected to Mr. Abbott. The club’s loyal patrons continue to frequent the establishment. Many of them say that “the Starlite” is a necessary fixture in their lives.

  A necessary fixture. She reread the last five words again and again. The reporter must have interviewed some of her ladies. Her family. She was crying.

  A necessary fixture in their lives.

  They were her family.

  The newspaper grew soggier, damp from the rain mixed with her tears. Nothing would be a secret.

  Nothing. Including her own social club.

  The waitress brought over her salami sandwich, and Madeline closed the newspaper, as though she could be recognized from a passage of text.

  The waitress served her without comment. She ate her lunch, eyes locked in a trance on the crusty bread, on the yellow mustard in its squeeze bottle.

  The Starlite would be known.

  And she was the one who had made the phone call t
o the reporter; she was the one who had made it happen.

  She shuddered, her breath quickening.

  Madeline pushed aside her food, unable to eat.

  37

  Lisa

  The ring was a little loose on Lisa’s hand.

  She felt for it often, making sure it hadn’t fallen off.

  Her left thumb kept the diamond pressed inward, hidden in her palm as she danced with the ladies. It was the most expensive thing she had ever touched, and now she wore it on her very own finger.

  Billy had proposed a few days prior. He did it at Woolworth’s, near the soda counter. He gave her a balloon that you had to pop to see if you had won a free soda. She used a pin from the soda jerk to pop the balloon; then her engagement ring fell to her feet. The soda jerk went into hysterics when he saw the expression on her face.

  Billy grabbed the fallen ring, and then he crouched down on one knee, next to her high stool.

  “Will you marry me?”

  Customers nearby stared, wide-eyed, as though they were in a movie or a television show. Lisa said, “Yes,” and she and Billy kissed; everyone clapped. A cashier at the other end of Woolworth’s dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

  She hadn’t told anyone yet. They might still remember the day he left her at the airport and disappeared from her life back in February, and although she had been back together with him for several months now, they wouldn’t have easily forgotten.

  It was too soon for her to share the news. But he had apologized for everything, so it was all in the past.

  Everyone made mistakes sometimes.

  The stone on her ring was round-cut, beveled. The diamond spoke of a substantial outlay of money, of enough to care for her—and even her family—in the future.

  Though when Billy had called her on Wednesday to ask for a date, she lied, saying that she had plans to celebrate that night with her friends.

  “Are you going to the Starlite?” He was gruff, expectant.

  She replied, in a chipper voice, “Yep, that’s where I’m going!”

  “That’s a bad idea, babe. You know, my father is working for Fred Abbott right now. You really shouldn’t be going to the establishment of his ex-wife.”

  He bossed her, as though he were telling a worker on his site to move a plank from a pile.

  “Give me a break, Billy. Besides, you saw all of that stuff in the paper? I understand that your father’s working for him and all, but Fred Abbott seems like a monster. What a hideous man! Did you read about all those affairs he had?”

  “You actually believe all those lies? I don’t even read the paper. Who can trust reporters?” Billy scoffed. “You should hear what my father tells me about the press. They’re a bunch of fiction writers!”

  His father.

  His father spoke about the press only with his cigar in the corner of his mouth, his hands scented with something Lisa wouldn’t repeat.

  She would keep her mouth closed.

  Instead of responding to Billy, she sighed. “Well, I’m still going to go spend some time with my friends. A girl has got to celebrate after she gets engaged.”

  “I guess so. I guess I’ll go celebrate with the boys, then, and we’ll call it even.”

  “Sounds good.” She was short with him.

  For a moment, neither of them said anything.

  Then he chortled. “Well. I guess that was our first compromise as man and wife.”

  He laughed, earnest and funny again, and she couldn’t help but to laugh in response, albeit delayed.

  They hung up shortly after. Lisa would go to the Starlite. Madeline’s sad story was in the newspaper; she would be in a state.

  She would need the members of her club.

  38

  Madeline

  Madeline would now be known as “the woman who was cheated upon.”

  But she was more than that. Much more. Everyone had to see that she was fine. That her business and club were doing fine—even better than fine.

  She kept the dress shop closed on Tuesday and Wednesday so she could make things look beyond perfect. She tidied everything from top to bottom, shined every clothing rack, set out extra tables and chairs, and added plentiful pops of color—she tucked sprigs of flowers tied with ribbon into every available niche.

  Her finished space looked not only gorgeous; it was breathtakingly fresh.

  Madeline also looked breathtakingly fresh. She had given herself a mud mask the night before the club would meet, and her skin was radiant. She was bedecked in a dress she had never worn—an emerald-green number, with a beautiful new brooch to match.

  The soft hairs on Madeline’s arms stood on end as the time drew nearer. She rubbed the back of her neck as her skin erupted in goose bumps.

  The security guard was the first to arrive, at six o’clock. He took his station outside and yelled through the doorway. “Looking gorgeous!”

  “Thank you!” She checked her reflection and fixed her lipstick.

  She scurried to and fro, cleaning and settling everything. It would be their Spring Fling. She waffled through her pile of records, contemplating several choices.

  “Madeline! I can’t even believe it! You’re famous!” Harriet bounded through the door, early as could be, like an excited schoolgirl. “I had to come as soon as I could! I can’t believe it! Wow, Fred’s gonna get it now, won’t he?”

  It would be the first vibration of the ongoing theme of the evening: the buzz of scandal. Madeline kept her lips closed as she continued flipping through her stack of records.

  The familiar faces entered first. Then, all at once, more ladies flowed in. These were unfamiliar women—friends of friends—women who said they’d heard about the Starlite in the paper and wanted to check it out. The social club had been invitation-only up to this point, but Madeline allowed these new women inside. They chatted a million miles a minute, and she served up little petit fours on plates, which allowed her to circulate, avoiding conversation where she could.

  The air quivered with something different; everybody was quicker to laugh. They gathered in groups, circles of old and new patrons.

  Her small storefront could barely contain these throngs of women. Madeline greeted each of them warmly, but soon there was more and more, and she lost track of all the new faces.

  At the same time, her friends surrounded her—to get her attention, to make conversation:

  “That scumbag sure has it coming now!”

  “I can’t believe you dealt with that for so long!”

  She nodded, like they weren’t talking about her but about someone else.

  She set herself on the organization of things, to get rid of all the chairs, to make standing room for everyone and push back the clothing racks. She enlisted the help of a few ladies to move some heavy tables over to the side.

  Elaine came over. She was white as alabaster, and she lightened in color even more as she tried to lift a bulky rack.

  “Quite a crowd,” she commented, as her frail body strained with effort.

  “I can barely believe it,” Madeline said, and then she told Elaine to stop. Elaine did so without protest.

  Elaine’s eyes glazed over as she gestured to the crowds. “It seems as though you’ve become famous.”

  “Famous for what?”

  The three-ring circus swirled before them. A group of unknown ladies caught sight of Madeline and waved from the other side of the room. Madeline waved back.

  “Making top headline on the gossip page is a big deal.”

  “I know that.” She eyed the cots piled in the back. There wouldn’t be enough sleeping accommodations for the crowd that evening, and even if there had been enough, the new women wouldn’t know about the rule where they had to spend the night.

  She couldn’t guarantee everyone’s safety if the ladies filtered out into the streets at odd hours.

  They would all be targets, especially now that the story had broken.

  “Damn it!” Madeline exclaimed.
She never used such crude language.

  “What’s wrong?” Elaine whipped around to face her, in a bit of shock.

  “There’s no way everyone could sleep here tonight! This is a mess!” A choke hold of a sob overtook her, and she dashed to escape prying eyes.

  She ran off to her back room.

  She would be alone for a moment.

  The women knew her secrets, but they didn’t know Madeline.

  She crumpled into a ball, sobbing at the feet of her back-room sofa. Her hairdo was moist and matted as the wet salt of her tears dripped on the skirt of her dress. She was alone in her close confines behind her little door. Her face was down, smushed into the crevices of her arm, where it was dark.

  Soon enough, someone came behind her and interrupted her damp isolation.

  It was Elaine, treading with light feet. “Does that feel better now?” She spoke in low tones, in her beautiful British accent.

  Madeline’s bloodshot eyes balked at this delicate creature in the shadows. Elaine was so skinny that she looked barely able to stand.

  “Thank you.” She accepted the tissue from Elaine’s thin fingers. “I feel like I made a big mistake. Or more than one mistake. And there’s nothing I can do about it now.”

  “I don’t understand. What did you do wrong?”

  “Everything! First of all, I married Fred—”

  “You didn’t know he would go with another woman.”

  “Of course I didn’t!”

  He had been a boisterous, jovial guy when she met him. He had chatted her up so charmingly, giving her flowers on every date. After he expressed his political aspirations, she had latched on further, excited to have met an ambitious man.

  Elaine gave Madeline a sad smile. “They’re not always who we think they are, right?”

  “I guess not. I guess it’s impossible to tell sometimes.” Madeline gave a deep sigh, a precursor to sitting up, straightening herself. She pulled at her skirt to get out the wrinkles. She inhaled deeply, and a snort escaped her nose. It was a funny sound.