by Sofia Grant
“You’re absolutely right, Dad,” Charlie said—he couldn’t help himself. “Respect, decorum, character—now there’s the true measure of a man.”
Frank snorted, but Harry had already moved on to flirting with the girl at the desk, leaning on his elbow so he had a better view of her bosom while she looked up their reservation.
“There you go, sonny boy,” he said, pressing a key into Frank’s hand. “Top floor, with the best view in the place. I told that little gal I’d make it worth her while, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m just going to assume you mean that you gave her a decent tip,” Charlie said. “Now can we—”
“You know what you need?” Harry said, stabbing his finger into Charlie’s chest. “You need to relax a little. Go out for a nice steak dinner with your brother, throw a few bucks at the tables, meet some of the locals. Who knows—this might be your lucky night.” This suggestion was accompanied by a lascivious wink to indicate that he didn’t just mean gambling.
As disgusted as Charlie was by his father’s suggestion that he and Frank spend the evening chasing girls the day before their mother’s funeral, Frank laughed and slapped their father on the back. Charlie knew that his brother was grieving in his own way, but even as a child, Frank had been loath to show weakness. He used to lie on the floor and challenge his friends to step on him—his arms, legs, even his stomach—with the stipulation that if he could keep a smile on his face the whole time, they had to pay him a nickel. Frank had made a lot of money that way, especially in high school when he graduated to charging a couple bucks to take a punch.
Frank took after their father, who’d been a linebacker at the University of Oregon. Frank might have played for the Cal-Berkeley Bears after the war if he hadn’t been injured, but instead he dedicated himself to girls, beer, and skipping classes, and barely managed to graduate, even with an extra semester.
“So listen, son,” Harry said, after Frank excused himself to go to the men’s room. “You know how Francie gets—has to run the show, no matter what anyone else wants. This whole idea of burying your mother here, well, I’m really sorry it’s come to this—it’s ridiculous, anyone can see that—but when I tried to talk Francie into doing the right thing, she threw a fit, said she’d already started calling people and making arrangements. I’m afraid it was just too far down the line to change it, especially with people traveling here.”
“It’s okay, Dad,” Charlie had said. He wasn’t about to tell his father that he thought it was the right decision.
“That’s my boy,” Harry said, giving Charlie’s shoulder a squeeze. “Your brother was a champ about it too. Showing some real maturity, both of you. Now listen, I need to go upstairs and make a couple calls, and I think your brother wanted to take a shower and change clothes, so let’s meet in the bar in, oh, say, an hour. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Why would I mind?” Charlie said—but he couldn’t help thinking that had he known, he might have spent an extra hour with June.
AT A FEW minutes before four, the first-floor Mapes bar was beginning to fill up with people having a drink before their evening entertainment began. Charlie had staked out a few chairs around a cocktail table and ordered a beer while he waited, gloomily playing the conversation with his father over in his mind. There had been a time when he would have done anything to earn a little praise from his father, but now Harry’s words fell on deaf ears. Since going to work for him, Charlie had come to understand that his father used praise as a tool—doling it out when he wanted something, withholding it as a punishment. Frank, who’d received a medical discharge for his battle injuries only a few weeks after shipping out, had been working for their father for two years already when Charlie joined the company, and had been promoted to salesman. Charlie didn’t begrudge his brother the position; if Frank was truly happy working at HFC Events Management, Charlie was all for it.
But he wouldn’t be sticking around.
He wasn’t planning to broach the subject until the desert staging area was fully broken down and all the equipment and staff were back in San Francisco. Originally the Moser brothers had just wanted to run a few print ads and drive people out to the test site in a repurposed school bus to watch the tests, but by the time they signed the contract, Harry had convinced them to expand the idea into a true entertainment venue, so they could charge top dollar, and the scope of the project had tripled.
Charlie figured that after his mother’s service he would return to Vegas and the early-morning drives into the desert, working extra shifts so they could wrap it up as quickly as possible.
But then he’d met June—and she’d thrown his plans, and his heart, into confusion.
At a little after four, Harry and Frank came walking into the open-plan bar from opposite directions, dressed in sport coats and ties nearly identical to his own, and Charlie groaned inwardly. The sport coats had been gifts from Harry when each of them joined the company, the ties and cuff links doled out for birthdays and Christmas gifts.
“Hey, sons! Looking sharp!”
“Thanks, Dad!” Frank said.
Harry waved the cocktail waitress over as he and Frank took their seats. Frank stumbled as he sat; Charlie smelled alcohol and realized his brother had already started drinking in his room.
“Boilermakers all around,” Harry told the waitress. “Make ’em doubles. What do you think of my boys, Miss, couple of handsome guys, eh?”
“Yes, sir,” the girl simpered; she knew a big tip when she saw one.
“Both single.” Harry leered, winking as he put his hand on Frank’s shoulder. “Though I’d put my money on this one—Charlie there’s a shy fellow.”
“Charlie’s not shy,” Frank said, shrugging Harry’s hand off his shoulder in a rare show of impatience as the waitress walked away. “You shouldn’t say stuff like that, Dad.”
Charlie looked up, surprised. Now that he took a good look at him, Frank appeared the worse for wear—his face was ruddy, his tie askew.
“Aw, he knows I’m just foolin’,” Harry said. “Don’t you, Charlie Boy?”
“Mom hated when you called him that.”
Now both of them looked at Frank in surprise.
“Did you get into the sauce a little early?” Harry asked. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s understandable. We’re all grieving here. Your mother and I had our troubles, everybody knew that, but I loved her.”
“Yeah?” Frank said, leaning across the table and poking his finger in his father’s face. “So much that you booked your whore into the same hotel as her? That how you show how much you loved Mom?”
“Hey!” Charlie said, more out of confusion than offense. How did Frank know about Willy? “Frank, you know what, maybe we should let Dad get to his business dinner, and you and I can go get a steak like he said. What do you say, a nice big rib-eye?”
“Dad isn’t going to a business dinner,” Frank said, slurring his words and crossing his arms on his chest. “He’s going to see his whore.”
“Hey, now, listen,” Harry said. “I won’t have you talking like that.”
“Yeah? Well, Mom sure didn’t like you cheating on her like that, but you never cared.”
“What the hell’s gotten into you?” Harry said, his face turning red. “For your information, my marriage to your mother was over a long time ago, and she wouldn’t say any different if she was here. We stayed together for you kids’ sakes, right up until the day she announced she was coming here.”
“Okay,” Charlie said, standing. He hooked his hand under Frank’s armpit and dragged him from his chair. “You know what, Dad, this isn’t the time or place. Frank and I are burying our mother tomorrow and we don’t need to hear about that right now.”
“Or ever, you bastard,” Frank said, attempting to yank his arm away and stumbling backward into a decorative metal railing. “Ow!”
The waitress had returned with a tray holding their three cocktails. “Is everything all right?�
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“No, everything’s not all right,” Frank bellowed. “Our mother is dead and our father killed her!”
“That’s enough,” Harry said, pushing back his chair.
Charlie, whose muscles had been hardened by heavy labor, had little trouble dragging his flailing brother away, but he made one miscalculation: he failed to look behind him to see the white-haired dowager passing by, until she fell into a potted palm and screamed. He let go of Frank to help the woman up, but as she got unsteadily to her feet, Charlie heard the sound of a fist connecting with bone.
Chapter 49
Francie
Go away,” Francie moaned. She’d made it from the bed to the chair, taking the blanket with her, where she was listlessly reading the same page in an issue of Vogue over and over. Earlier in the day, Virgie had brought up a vase of lovely pink and white tulips that Alice had dropped off, which made her feel a little better, only why hadn’t Alice brought them upstairs herself? Because her mother was a fool and a disgrace, that’s why. Francie wished it was late enough to go to bed.
“It’s June,” came a muffled voice. “And Patty.”
Francie closed her eyes and sighed. Not fair—bringing Patty along was a dirty trick, because who could refuse the little darling? She stuck her feet in her slippers and shuffled across the room.
“Before I open this door,” she said, “it’s to be understood that there will be no discussion of my appearance.”
“Of course not.”
Francie opened the door.
June was wearing a dress and a pair of navy peep-toe pumps that had Alice’s stamp all over them. She was holding a covered dish, and next to her Patty held a plate with a slice of cake on it.
“We brought your dinner,” Patty said, “because you don’t feel good.”
“Wasn’t that thoughtful. Well, you’d best come in, then, hadn’t you?”
June looked around the room, taking in the mussed bedcovers, the dishes stacked on the dresser, the dress Francie had worn the night before puddled on the floor. One high-heeled shoe lay upside down next to the bathroom door. The wastepaper basket sat near the head of the bed, close at hand in case Francie had needed to unburden herself of the contents of her stomach again and couldn’t make it to the bathroom.
“What happened here?”
“I was under the weather. Resting.”
“Have you been lying here all day?” June sounded appalled.
“I spoke to Vi’s lawyer,” Francie said, ignoring the question as she collapsed back into the chair. Frederick Yeske had tracked her down after receiving a letter Vi had posted the morning she left town, letting him know of her death. “It was upsetting. He called to arrange the reading of her will, per her wishes, and wanted to know when to schedule it. I told him I’d talk to Harry and the boys—and Alice too, apparently she was named—but not until after the funeral.”
June nodded sympathetically and started tidying. She folded the blanket, picked up the stack of magazines, and made the bed, and only then took a cloth napkin from her purse and draped it over Francie’s lap, handed her a fork, and set the plate on her knees.
“Come up here with me,” she said to Patty, perching on the edge of the bed. “But no jumping.”
“I suppose,” Francie said, as she inhaled the aroma of pork chops with creamed onions and found that her appetite was on its way to being restored, “that I owe you an explanation, and an apology.”
“I did call three times,” June said. “Mrs. Swanson said you hadn’t been down for breakfast or lunch.”
“I wasn’t feeling strong enough to pick up.”
June let that pass. “I thought you’d want to hear about our trip to the house—and the mortuary and the florist. Though I had to get Clyde to drive me to the florist, because Charlie had to get back to meet his father and brother.”
“Oh dear,” Francie said. As delicious as the dinner smelled, she had some amends to make first. She carefully set the plate on the side table. “I’ve been dreadful to you today, June. I’ve left you with all the work. And Vi—if she’s watching me from heaven she’s probably furious with me.”
“Are you still sad?” Patty asked, bouncing just a bit, her feet swinging in their little black Mary Janes.
“Yes, darling, Mrs. Meeker is going to be sad for a long time,” June said, gathering Patty into her arms. “Remember how sad I was when Mr. Jenkins next door died?”
“He was old,” Patty said gravely.
“Yes, but I was sad anyway.”
“Do you miss Mrs. Grubbers?”
“Carothers, darling.”
Francie couldn’t help but smile. “Mrs. Grubbers—I think she might have liked that.”
“You really should eat,” June urged. “You’ll need your strength tomorrow.”
“But I need to finish my apology. You see, I had dinner with Alice last night, and Arthur, and—and—”
“Mr. Meeker’s friend,” June said calmly. “Alice told me.”
“She did?” Francie was shocked that Alice would air the family’s dirty laundry to someone she’d met only the day before. Though maybe Alice hadn’t explained the exact nature of the men’s friendship. “Well . . . did she tell you that I, er, drank more than I should have? And made a fool of myself in front of the entire restaurant? And—and—none of them are speaking to me?”
June shrugged, her expression neutral. “She did say something about a disagreement.”
“Well, I behaved abominably. But, June—I had my reasons. Alice has met someone, and she thinks she’s in love.”
“How awful,” June said, with a hint of a smile.
“No, you don’t understand. This has happened once before.”
“Alice has fallen in love twice? Good for her. Maybe there’s hope for me.”
“You love me, Mama,” Patty pointed out.
“It’s different for Alice,” Francie said, her voice beginning to quaver the way it always did when she thought about poor Alice and the hardships she’d been forced to endure, all because of a cruel accident of nature. “No man wants to date a handicapped girl. But certain men . . . unscrupulous men . . . find out about our family’s wealth and try to take advantage. Ordinarily circumstances prevent them from getting close to her—”
“What does that mean? What kind of circumstances?”
“Well, obviously, Alice lives at home with us. She can’t very well get a job, of course, but she takes classes and volunteers at the hospital and belongs to several clubs. None of which brings her in contact with men, needless to say.”
“Hmm.”
“Anyway, a number of years ago Alice struck up a conversation with a boy at a lunch counter after one of her classes, and he sensed an opportunity. He flattered her and pretended to be interested in her, and asked her on a date. And I warned her, I forbid her to go, but Arthur insisted she be allowed to—we had a terrible fight about it. And I was right, because after two months of courtship, the boy proposed to her.
“June, she was so excited—you should have seen her. He hadn’t even bothered to ask Arthur for her hand, but all Arthur could see was that his little girl was happy, talking about dresses and flowers and asking Margie to be her maid of honor. I pointed out that the boy worked as a delivery man and didn’t have two nickels to rub together, but Alice didn’t care. Not until I had Arthur’s lawyer draw up a document to the effect that Alice would receive not one penny from us, ever, if she went through with the wedding—and she still didn’t care. Can you believe that?”
“She was in love,” June said. “So yes, of course I can believe it.”
“Well, this is all very rich, because the minute he saw the letter, he disappeared, and Alice never heard from him again. Not even to say goodbye. It turns out that the address he’d given her was false, that no one at the delivery company had even heard of him. And yet she cried her eyes out as though she’d lost the love of her life.”
“Maybe she was just embarrassed,” June said
. “And sad. You know, that he’d tricked her like that. I know I would be.”
Francie sniffed and dabbed at her nose with a hanky and stared at June. There was something different about her.
“Did you do something to your hair?”
June blushed. “Alice insisted. It was terribly expensive, and I told her no, but she wouldn’t listen. She said we both should get a trim and a wash and set for tomorrow, and then she and the hairdresser decided that I would look good as a blonde—I mean a real blond, not my old dishwater brown.”
“Well, she was right.” For some reason, this made Francie angry. “You look like a damn beauty queen.”
Patty gasped. “She said a bad word, Mama.”
“You know what, darling, how would you like to have that lollipop Charlie bought for you?” June took a multicolored confection out of her purse, untied the ribbon holding its cellophane, and handed it to Patty. “Only you must go eat it in the bathroom, so you don’t get the carpet sticky. Go on, darling. Close the door behind you.”
Patty hopped off the bed and ran to the bathroom.
“I know that trick,” Francie grumbled. “But why is Charlie buying candy for Patty?”
“Well, since someone couldn’t be bothered to help today, it took longer than we expected, and he felt bad for Patty being stuck inside all day.”
“What’s gotten into you? Why are you taking Alice’s side?”
“I’m not taking sides. I just think she’s right, Francie. I know it must have been horrible to watch her get hurt the last time she fell in love—I’d just about die if anyone was that cruel to Patty. But you should be proud of her for being brave enough to try again. You know what she told me?”
“I can’t imagine.” At the moment, Francie felt as if her own daughter was a stranger, and June wasn’t helping.
“She says that even if something happens and she and this fellow don’t stay together, she still won’t regret it, because she’s had the best six months of her life.”
“Six months?”
“She didn’t tell you it had been that long because she was afraid you’d be angry.”
