“Jeez, Chloe—lay off of them doughnuts.”
Before she could process the insult, Bill slipped his fingers under the fur. She shoved him away.
Her voice trembled, “I won’t be your dirty little secret anymore. Divorce Vera.”
There, I’ve said it.
Bill ran his fingers through Chloe’s soft red hair. He knew just the spot to touch. “Lovey, we’ve been all through this. You know I can’t possibly divorce her while he’s in office. How would it look if the President’s secretary all of a sudden up and got divorced? The Republicans would go wild! And it’d be rough on my little girls. Just wait a little bit longer. Lovey, I promise we’ll be together soon. He ain’t gonna be Prez for the rest of his life ya know.”
Chloe fought back tears. Whatever was I thinking? Momma was right. I should have stayed in the mountains. But eleven months ago, her country had called for good girls to fill the shoes of the boys at war. When I was still a good girl. I had no idea what I’d have to do for my country. It might as well have been eleven millennia ago. I can’t ever go back. Not now. She shoved her hands in the deep silk-lined pockets…where she felt the cold steel of a revolver.
Five shots exploded down from the supervisors’ catwalk. Chloe dove under a metal desk, pulling in an olive drab trash can for cover. Bill slumped face down into a carelessly heaped pile of hundreds.
Chloe peeked from behind the can. She watched a female silhouette blow smoke from the barrel and stroll back along the catwalk then out of sight. No! This can’t be happening. I’m in a bad movie. Bad dream. Bad world.
Shaking, Chloe crawled to Bill and rolled him over. A C-note covered his eyes. She yanked it off and screamed in horror.
Chloe ran through the building and slammed straight into the loading dock door. She struggled to hoist it high enough to crawl under. Rolling onto the ramp, she pushed herself up on hands and knees, then to full height. She put her hand on the revolver in her pocket and lit out running. As she looked back over her shoulder, she slipped on the icy sidewalks, battering her knees.
Back on her feet, she forced herself onward. A dry lump ached in the back of her mouth, forced open from heavy breathing. Frozen rain stung her face. As Chloe tumbled again she pulled her hand out of her pocket, not letting go of the pistol. The cobblestones abraded her wrists as she broke her fall.
As she scrambled up again, one blue heel snapped off in a snow-covered grate, propelling her face first into a police call box. Moaning in agony, tasting blood, Chloe looked over her shoulder. A lone car sped past. Forcing herself onward, she made it to the Fourteenth Street Bridge. Gasping for breath, Chloe leaned over the concrete railing and threw the revolver. It slid along the surface of the frozen Potomac River. “Damn it. I can’t even dispose of a gun properly. It doesn’t matter anyhow. It isn’t the murder weapon.” Murder weapon? “No!”
An icicle fell from the lamppost above her. Chloe drew back as it seemed to shatter in slow motion. She looked at the hundred dollar bill still crumpled in her hand. Benjamin Franklin’s picture adorned both sides. The drunken printers should be ashamed of themselves for such a mistake. Chloe dreaded turning them in. But right now that was the least of her worries. She shivered almost convulsively as she clutched the paper to her heart. Tears blinded her as she buttoned the fur coat.
* * * * *
Half an hour later back at the White House, Eleanor Roosevelt emerged from the Monroe Room, startled to find her husband in the hallway.
He said, “Babs! Didn’t see you come in. How was the hoop dee doo? Tell me, are the older ladies supportive of my efforts?”
“Um…yes. Yes they are.”
“So’d you get swept off your feet by some handsome Republican?” “Naturally…a baker’s dozen of ’em.”
“Say, the Secret Service boys told me counterfeit money’s been turning up in the District, Maryland, Virginia and West Virginia.”
“Oh? That’s…alarming… I’m really tired.”
“I’m on my way for a long hot soak. Care to join me?”
“Um…no, dear. I just want to get out of these shoes and get some shut-eye.”
“So be it. Goodnight… I love you.”
She leaned down. They kissed. “And I love you.”
As she turned away, he grabbed her arm. “Babs, what’s that all along the hem of your dress?”
“Hunh?”
He seized the emerald taffeta near her waist and began hoisting it up. Eleanor’s green pumps were filthy. His gaze ran up her rayon stockings. They were tight at the ankles and baggy at the knees. Franklin examined the bottom of her dress.
The first lady blushed as she looked over her shoulder. “Franklin! What if—” “Cobwebs. Well I’ll be. Rosie the Riveter must be older than I thought.” Eleanor pulled away, smoothing the taffeta down. She gave him the evil eye.
Franklin chuckled as she walked off. He followed his pup into the Monroe room. Looking around the sparse spotless room, he wondered what his wife had been up to. Fala sniffed the paneling along the fireplace wall. Mr. Roosevelt heard a voice in the corridor.
“Sir? Sir? Where you are?”
Fala jumped into his lap. The President rolled into the hallway. “Ah, I was looking for you, good fellow. Come and draw my bath now. So tell me, Fuji, how is that stunning creature you hoodwinked into matrimony?” Tired and aching, Mr. Roosevelt allowed his valet to push his wheelchair to the Presidential bedroom.
“Traveling again. But Mrs. Fuji did send special package you requested.” “Perfect timing, son.”
Fala leapt from his master's lap to the chair at the foot of the bed. He circled twice and kneaded his paws into the upholstery before curling up to sleep. As was their usual routine, the President began undressing.
The valet stepped into the adjoining bathroom and turned the spigots on. Fuji adjusted the temperature and then told his boss, “Be right back,” as he dashed out of the suite.
Fuji soon returned with a brown interagency envelope. He delivered it to the President then mumbled, “I hope no overflow!” as he ran into the bathroom.
Mr. Roosevelt unsealed the metal clasp on the envelope and emptied the contents onto his white bedspread. He grinned while inspecting the nylon stockings.
“Okay sir, your bath is drawn.”
President Franklin Delano Roosevelt replaced the contraband, wheeled over to a bookshelf and slipped the envelope behind an original edition of Poor Richard’s Almanac. “When’s the missus due back?”
“Not for month. Wish we get delivery from stork and she stay home.” He pushed the wheelchair into the bathroom. Fuji removed Mr. Roosevelt’s trousers and torturous leg braces.
The President smiled. “Careful what you wish for. Once that old stork finds your address, he might become a pest. He visited the missus and me six times in ten years. First a little girl, then five boys.”
Claude Fuji laughed with the President.
* * * * *
Still high on adrenaline, the first lady changed into blue-and-white-striped pajamas. She left her bedroom and took her dirty clothes to the hamper in the hall closet, dropping them on top. She dug down and fished out her husband’s shirt. It reeked of French perfume and the collar had a scarlet-colored smudge. Tucking it under her arm, she trotted downstairs, straight to his secretary’s office. Looking over her shoulder, Mrs. Roosevelt ducked inside. She sat in Vera Blandings’ chair, rummaging through her desk. The first lady removed a tube of lipstick from the top side drawer. She straightened the small stacks of papers inside, then hurried back to her bedroom. Thank goodness no one saw me.
Eleanor shut the door and locked it. She yanked the cap from the lipstick and twisted it up. Mrs. Roosevelt compared the color to the smudge on her husband’s shirt. It matched. Her stomach churned as tears welled in her eyes. Not again. All the pain from 1918 came rushing back. That Lucy Mercer had nearly ended their marriage. I will not stand for him to be involved with another secretary. Eleanor twisted the lipstick back down
, replaced the cap and chucked it into a wastebasket. Then she shoved his shirt in with it. She stomped it down with her foot.
Eleanor climbed in bed and picked up the telephone receiver on her walnut nightstand.
The White House operator asked, “Yes Missus Roosevelt, how may I direct your call?”
* * * * *
Now past midnight, across town in Anacostia, the mournful winter wind harmonized horribly with the off-key singing from down the hall at the boarding house. Chloe lay shivering in cold water, unaware how much time had passed since she’d drawn the bath. It was her desperate attempt to wash the evil away. Succumbing to the incessant pounding on the door, she whimpered, “Orpha, if you and Shirley don’t stop that wretched caterwauling I’ll vacate the room.”
Chloe stumbled out of the tub onto the cold pink and black floor. Lavender-scented suds slid down her legs and pooled on the flower-patterned tile.
“It’s Mrs. Grogan dear. Did your special fella come through for ya tonight? I want all the romantic details.”
Shivering, Chloe leaned over and twisted a worn but bright white towel around her hair. She shoved her arms into an old terrycloth bathrobe, wincing as the rough fabric abraded her sensitive skin. She pulled the frayed belt tight.
Chloe jerked the chain on the tub stopper, releasing the dirty water. She stared at the hundred dollar bill. Slither away and leave me alone. It didn’t heed her will. She yanked the money out and wadded it up with all her might, then shoved it into the bottom of the wastebasket, underneath the bathroom discards.
“Chloe? Can ya hear me darlin’? Did he pop the question?” the landlady asked.
Chloe knelt on the wet tiles, dunking her hands into the dwindling water and flattening them on the bottom of the tub. Water poured from her cuffs when she pulled them back out. The cast iron drainpipe burped as the bathtub emptied.
Twisting the crystal knob, Chloe opened the door and gagged at the stench of burnt eggnog. After switching the light off, she crossed the hall to her room.
Mrs. Grogan gasped at the sight of Chloe’s legs and face. She followed Chloe in and shut the door. “Oh my God child! You were attacked! Or did…did he do this to ya? I’ll go and fetch Doc Morton. Or do ya need to go to the hospital?”
“No! Don’t call anyone. You mustn’t tell! Promise, Mrs. G?” Chloe pleaded, nearly hysterical.
“Shh… Calm down, now just calm down darlin’. Ya know I’ll do ya right.” The landlady pulled Chloe to her bosom and stroked the towel on her hair. “There there now. Everything will be all right.”
“Ouch! You’re hurting me.”
Mrs. Grogan let go. “I’m so sorry, sweetness. Forgive—” “No, I’m sorry, Mrs. G. I mean…”
“Shh-shh-shh. Hush child. “ She tenderly ran a finger along Chloe’s cheek. “I’ll be back in a moment.” The landlady waddled off with purpose.
Chloe located her big suitcase, wedged in the tiny closet. Determined to extract the luggage, she inhaled and heaved to the left. The suitcase dislodged, propelling a wire hanger with a pink cotton blouse. The hanger stung her chest. The blouse covered her face. She sneezed and dropped the suitcase as she grabbed her ribs. Dear God and Jesus in heaven. Please let me feel better. Please let me wake up in North Carolina. Forgive me of my sins. Amen.
She heard panting as Mrs. Grogan swept aside the makeup and curlers on the dresser and deposited an aluminum tray. A waffle-sized powder puff fell to the floor. Chloe held in another sneeze and picked up the suitcase. Mrs. Grogan bent down with a groan and plucked up the puff, tossing it onto the dresser. She tugged on the suitcase but was unable to release it from Chloe’s grip.
“Where do ya think you’re going on such a treacherous night? Young lady, ya just put that thing away and get under the covers. Here’s some warm eggnog and a couple of chloral hydrate capsules to help ya sleep.”
“No! I have to get out of here, now leave me alone! I’ve messed everything up. What don’t you understand? I can’t stay in Washington. I have to disappear before it’s too late!”
“Why? Just call the Metropolitan Police on the beast!”
“No, you don’t understand and…I…I can’t explain it. I have to leave! Believe me and don’t ask anything! Please?” How much time do I have before they find out? What will they do to me?
With a look of uneasy puzzlement, Mrs. Grogan questioned, “But where will ya go? Back home to your Mam in Carolina? Do ya want me to call her for ya?”
Chloe dropped the suitcase onto the tapestry area rug, grabbed Mrs. Grogan’s chubby arms and stared dead into her chocolate eyes. “I can never go back to North Carolina now. Not in this—oh, I’ve said too much! All right… You have to help me. Please, Mrs. G?”
Mrs. Grogan embraced her favorite tenant and affirmed, “I will help ya darlin’. Always. Now what is it that ya need?”
Chloe paced the room. As she passed by the wobbly-legged desk, she brushed against an old tin of pennies, knocking it over. They tinkled like a gentle metallic waterfall puddling on the hardwood floor. The two women bumped heads as they squatted to pick up the coins.
“Can you get my paycheck from the Bureau next Friday? And deposit it in my checking account? I’ll call in on Monday morning and tell them…oh, something!”
“How ‘bout that your sister’s baby has come early and ya have to go to Baltimore to help out with her older ones?”
Chloe’s stomach felt like it jumped to her throat. She knew she had to keep up the charade for Mrs. Grogan of having a sister. “No! Not that! I’ll tell them my Momma took ill and I have to go and look after her.” Chloe reached the last two pennies and plunked them into the can.
Mrs. Grogan put a stubby finger on her fleshy cheek and began tapping. “But where will ya go? To make a new beginning. Hollywood? New York? Iowa? No, not Iowa…” Mrs. Grogan clambered to her feet. “I know! Miami Beach!”
“Miami Beach?”
“Yes darlin’, of course Miami Beach. It’s eighty degrees down there now don’t ya know. I’ll call Paddy and let him know to expect ya. He’s my late husband’s cousin. He owns a bakery, finest in southern Florida. He rents rooms out over top of the place. I’ll make sure he has a vacancy and if he doesn’t, then he’ll just have to make one.”
Chloe sat cross-legged on the floor, adjusting her robe. “Don’t you read the newspaper, Mrs. G? The beach has been commandeered by the Army Air Corps for their boot camp. The hotels are being used as barracks, for heaven’s sake.” She rattled the pennies, staring into the can.
Faint rays of sunshine broke through the vicious storm clouds in Chloe’s mind. Miami Beach. Warmth, yes, oh to be warm again. Bakery, yum. But soldiers everywhere? How depressing. Wait…soldiers everywhere, about to be sent off to war…scared and lonely men.
Chloe stretched to reach the desk and shoved the tin can on top. She pulled herself up. “Yes! Mrs. Grogan, Miami Beach sounds…perfect. “
The landlady plopped Chloe’s suitcase up onto the bed. She grabbed an armload of clothes from the closet and tossed them on the quilt. Removing the first dress from its hanger, she shook it out and rolled it into a tight cylinder. “Ya get less wrinkles this way darlin’. I read it in a magazine don’t ya know. “
As Chloe touched up her bruised face with pancake and rouge, the Andrews Sisters’ snappy song, “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy”, drifted in from down the hall. She coughed while smacking a powder puff all over her forehead. None of this happened. I don’t exist. I’ll just disappear into paradise and everything will be all right again. She turned to Mrs. Grogan. “How do I look?”
“I shoulda married Max Factor. The man is a genius don’t ya know. Ya’d never guess what happened tonight. Don’t forget your lipstick darlin’, and you’re good enough to dance at the White House.” She hung the empty hangers on the wooden closet rod. “I’ll leave ya to dress, dear, and I’ll go call ol’ Paddy. And then, when he says yes, I’ll order ya a cab.”
“The trains do run all night, don’t they?”
“Yes darlin’. Now you get ready quick and be on your way. “
When Mrs. Grogan stepped into the hallway, she hollered, “Girls, ya turn that racket off. I don’t care if ya don’t have your nursing classes tomorrow. We have rules in this house.”
Chloe winced as she painted her scabbed lips a deep wine color. Her fingers got caught in a snarl as she combed through the carrot-colored strands of her hair. Satisfied, she packed her round makeup trunk.
Chloe emptied out her desk drawer, packing her birth and baptismal certificates, high school and college diplomas, pencils and a ruler. Hmm, the Mickeys might come in handy… Chloe scooped up the chloral hydrate capsules, dropped them in an envelope, licked it shut and placed it on top of her rolled blue gingham dress. She stretched a sock over the can of pennies and sunk it into the bottom of her suitcase. Her hand trembled as she tossed in two pink envelopes, recent letters from her “sister”.
As Chloe lay across the patchwork quilt on her twin bed, she was grateful the landlady had left and wouldn’t see the tears of pain as she struggled into her girdle. She finished dressing and then slipped her coat and gloves on. Chloe draped a beige cowl over her head and wrapped it around her neck.
She looked all over the space that had been her home for the last eleven months. The furnished room for let seemed emptier than when she had first moved in. Chloe placed her key on the desk then turned off the light.
She tiptoed down the dark narrow hall to the kitchen. Big band music blared from the radio in the back room. The taxi driver announced his arrival by leaning on the horn.
Mrs. Grogan pressed an envelope into her hand.
“Here’s Paddy’s address. He’ll be a-waitin’ for ya darlin’. He’s good stock don’t ya know. He’ll see that nobody harms ya there in paradise. Don’t ya worry none, I’ll take care of your paycheck. If Paddy fusses ’bout the telephone then ya call me person-to- person every week. And drop me some postcards. And if I ever get my hands on the beast who did this to you…so help me…”
Persuasive Lips Page 6
