by Jill G. Hall
“Oh, I am so gorgeous!” She posed, as if a beauty queen, all five foot eight of her, with an outstretched arm. Model-like, she dipped her hands in the jacket pockets. The tip of her finger touched something cold. Funny—when she had checked the pockets at the store, she was sure they were empty. She pulled out her hand. The key was brass and as dull as an old penny.
She carried it over to the kitchenette to see it better through the bay window over the sink. A ray of light hit the key. It grew warm and shimmered around the edges. She could have sworn that a puff of salty sea air leapt into the room. Tickling her palm, the key glowed, began to flitter like a lightning bug’s wings, wavered, and then stopped. Was she going crazy? She stared at it for a full minute and hoped it would glow again, but no such luck.
She put it back into her pocket and wondered if she had imagined the key’s energy. A faint memory of warm vibration against her skin remained. Not able to resist, she pulled the key out again, but it just sat there in her hand. She wanted to call Karl, Dottie, or even her mother to tell them about it, but they’d think she had gone off the deep end.
Attached to the key hung a round tag, where the name Sea Cliff was faded, barely legible. It could be from somewhere down near Ocean Beach. She stared at the key again. Could it really be magic?
2
1963.
Milo pulled the Rolls Royce around Bay Breeze’s circular drive and coasted down the street. A foghorn’s deep bass sang. Shadows shifted and fell across the road ahead. “It’s thick this mornin’,” the chauffeur said.
From the backseat, Sylvia nodded. “Better go slow.”
“Sleep well?” In the rearview mirror, Milo’s face glowed dark and shiny as the Rolls’s hood in the misty fog, his gray hair trimmed short as could be.
“Fine, thanks.” She didn’t want to tell him she had had a restless night. He worried about her.
“Where to? The usual?”
“Yes, Tiffany’s.” She had an itch, a craving for something dazzling. A charm that when touched would keep her composed tonight. She sat back on the black leather seat, used a compact mirror to apply Hollywood Red lipstick, and played with the graduated pearls around her neck. Buying something new usually calmed her.
The Rolls continued down the street. She really shouldn’t buy anything new right now, but this was an emergency. That blind date scheduled for seven o’clock had her stomach tied in knots.
Milo stopped for a cable car to pass. As they approached Union Square, she put on dark glasses, placed a pale pink chiffon scarf over her blonde hair, and flipped the ends around to the nape of her neck. The Rolls glided to the curb in front of the store and parked. Milo exited and opened her door. He took her hand, and she swung her long legs out, planting blue-and-white spectator pumps on the curb.
She smiled at him and stepped out. “I won’t be long.”
A man passed by, turned around, and glanced at her. She looked down and smoothed the jacket of her navy suit. At almost twenty-one, she wanted to look grown up.
Tall and erect, she walked as she had been taught years ago in charm school. Pushing through the revolving door, her body tingled with excitement. Tiffany’s: where glass cases gleamed under chandeliered lights, a fairyland filled with shiny objects and temptations of delight. It was her favorite place in the world.
The silent store smelled of fresh gardenia that wafted from a bowl on a pedestal. No other customers were present, but staff stood ready behind counters. Sylvia removed her dark glasses and scarf, slipping them into her handbag as a salesgirl approached, her brown hair pulled back and fitted suit just so.
“Miss Van Dam. What can I show you today?”
“I’ll just browse, Ruth,” Sylvia said with her voice just above a whisper. She gazed at a pair of sapphire earrings. In the perfect ensemble, her blind date might not notice her soft voice and shaky hands.
No one seemed to understand her shyness. She had overheard people at the club refer to her as a snob. But that wasn’t true. When someone new tried to talk to her, she could think of a million things to say, but her tongue would twist, her throat would go dry, and she just couldn’t get the words out.
At the next counter, she examined brooches, shimmering emeralds, topaz, and rubies. She wanted something a bit more understated and pointed to a snowflake pin.
“I’d like a closer look at that.”
“Isn’t it lovely?” Ruth took it out of the case. “Crystal rhinestone.”
“Not real diamonds?”
“No. I know it’s not our usual fare, but they’re all the rage.” Ruth placed a velvet tray on the counter and set the pin on top.
Sylvia had never bought an imitation. She peeked at the tiny tag hanging from the pin. The price was a reasonable $500, but even so, she shouldn’t buy it. Paul was a lenient guardian, but he had warned her not to exceed the $1000 monthly shopping allotment again, and this purchase would push it over. She hated to disappoint him, but she really wanted it.
Ruth placed the pin in the palm of Sylvia’s gloved hand and stepped back. About the size of a silver dollar, it was almost as light as a real snowflake might be, but this one certainly wouldn’t melt. She squeezed it in her palm, the permanence comforting.
She wiggled her hand toward the light and observed the glistening rhinestones. They sparkled as brightly as diamonds. You couldn’t even tell the difference. She held the pin up to her lapel, glanced in an oval mirror on the counter, and imagined how it would look on her black coat.
Ruth moved next to her. “That really suits you, Miss Van Dam.”
Sylvia smiled then frowned. The desire to buy the pin tapped, knocked, and then pounded a hole in her stomach. “Put it on my account, please.”
“Of course.” Ruth put the pin in a blue box and tied a white bow around it. She handed the package to Sylvia and walked her toward the door.
A glint caught the corner of Sylvia’s eye, and she paused. Alone in a glass case rested an exquisite tiara that somehow seemed familiar. A chill ran down her spine.
Ruth explained. “That’s been in our vault for years. Just put it on display.”
Sylvia stared at it and tried to catch her breath.
“Would you like to try it?”
“Oh, no!” Sylvia shuddered and rushed out the revolving door. How eerie. She was certain she had seen that tiara before. She seemed to remember its weight on her head and the feeling of the jewels on her fingertips.
Outside, the fog had cleared to reveal a lapis blue sky. The sun reflected on high white clouds. Sylvia squinted at the glare and donned her dark glasses again. Milo, at attention, cap in hand, opened the car door for her. She slid in and relaxed back. He started the ignition and peered in the rearview mirror. “Just that one little package?”
“That’s it.”
They drove up the hill, where Coit Tower floated in the distance. The tightening in her belly returned. What if Mr. Bonner tried to hold her hand tonight, or worse yet, kiss her? How horrible that would be. She wouldn’t know what to do. “Milo, please stop ahead at that liquor store.”
He nodded, slowed down, and pulled over.
She handed him some change from her pocketbook. “I’d like a Vogue and pack of cigarettes.”
“When did you start to smoke?”
“Today,” she said with a firm voice. It might make her appear more sophisticated and confident, like Marilyn Monroe.
“You know what Ella would say.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Sylvia mumbled, and she looked down.
Milo ambled into the store. He returned with a scowl on his face as if angry, then grinned and passed over the magazine and a pack of Lucky Strikes. “Don’t worry. No one needs to know.”
“You’re the best.” She smiled at him.
They continued up the hill toward home. She put the magazine aside and slid the cigarettes into her purse to try later. The tangle in her stomach twisted. She eyed the Tiffany package beside her and picked it up. Her fingers itched. Sh
e untied the white ribbon, opened the box, and stared at the snowflake pin. She clutched it. The knot inside her dissolved into calmness.
At home, Ella met her at the door. Underneath her lace cap, wispy curls had begun to turn the same gray as the uniform she always wore. “Shopping again?”
“Only a bauble.”
“Just what you need.” Ella stuck her hands in her apron pockets. “And don’t even think of breaking your date tonight.”
“I won’t.” Sylvia’s throat felt dry.
“You need to start dating.”
Sylvia looked down. “I’m only twenty.”
“Yes, and it is high time you became more social.”
“I’m trying.” Sylvia ran past Ella up the stairs.
“Your parents would practically have wanted you married by now!” Ella called.
Yes, but they weren’t here anymore, so it really didn’t matter. In fact, if that painting didn’t hang above the landing, Sylvia might not even remember what they looked like. She thought back to that day shortly after the funeral, hiding in her usual spot beneath the stairs, when she overheard Paul talking to Ella and Milo. “I think we should send Sylvia to boarding school.”
Ella disagreed. “Mr. Paul, you know she’s fragile by nature. Right now she doesn’t need any more disruption. She’s only thirteen and needs our care.”
“At least the two of you could move into one of the upstairs bedrooms.”
“No, thanks.” Milo said. “Our home has been down here for years, and that’s where we’ll stay.” So Ella and Milo continued to live in the little room next to the kitchen and continued with Sylvia’s day-to-day care and supervision.
What a relief. It would have been a nightmare to live with strangers. At the time, she didn’t really grasp the finality of death but somehow understood her parents were never coming back.
Now from a box on her canopied bed, Sylvia pulled out the velvet coat and clasped the snowflake pin on it. She donned the jacket and looked in the mirror. A lovely and confident woman stared back, at least for a moment, then faded to a trembling waif. She touched the pin and regained her composure, but within a few moments, it left her again. She shrugged off the coat, unclasped the snowflake, and grasped it in shaky hands.
How would she ever make it through her date tonight? Would Mr. Bonner think she was pretty? She wondered what to wear and entered her closet: a hollow cave filled with unworn sequined cocktail dresses and beaded chiffon gowns. She fingered each one. None of them seemed to fit the occasion.
She drifted to her dresser. On top rested seven identical turquoise leather jewelry boxes. She opened the first, placed the snowflake inside on black satin, and gazed at it. She felt nothing and quickly opened all the other boxes. One by one, she picked up each sparkling treasure—earrings, necklaces, bracelets, and brooches—and held each for a few seconds. The magic lasted only that long. Tenderly she closed the boxes and straightened them in a row, safe now.
She’d skipped lunch and knew Ella would fix her a sandwich if she asked but she couldn’t stomach food right now. Her body ached from exhaustion. She curled up to take a nap but wasn’t able to sleep so she knitted until she finally yawned, put away her needles and nodded off.
Awhile later Ella knocked on the door. “He’ll be here in an hour.”
To calm her nerves, Sylvia ran a bubble bath, stepped into the tub with the Vogue, and studied all the new jewelry and clothes she wished to buy. She dried off and wrapped a towel around her body. Checking the clock and in a panic, she entered the closet again, closed her eyes, and randomly picked a sapphire blue dress. She put it on. The sequins itched her skin, but she didn’t have time to change. With her hair brushed and makeup on, she took the snowflake brooch from the box and returned it to the coat’s collar just as the doorbell chimed below. She gasped for air.
Ella knocked and entered the bedroom. “He’s here.” She appraised Sylvia’s choice. “You look charming, dear.”
Sylvia glanced at her image in the mirror. Would Mr. Bonner think so?
“It’s time.” Ella smiled.
Sylvia couldn’t breathe, shook her head, and sat on the bed.
“I’m sure you’ll have a good time.” Ella walked over to her, hand outstretched. Sylvia swallowed, composed herself, and took it. Ella led her to the top of the stairs, placed Sylvia’s fingers on the newel, and let go. “You can do it,” Ella whispered in her ear.
Sylvia grasped the rail as she descended the stairs. At the landing, she stopped and peeked over the banister. Mr. Bonner, hat in hand, waited for her in the foyer. From the back, he looked nice enough—short brown hair and a sports jacket. But what if he wasn’t? Her heartbeat was so loud she thought he might hear it. She turned and ran up the stairs, past Ella and back into the bedroom again.
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