Tigers in Red Weather

by Liza Klaussmann

  “Darling,” her mother said. “Look who I found.”

  Daisy turned and saw her mother holding Tyler’s hand, pulling him toward them. Tyler, wearing a white dinner jacket and with his hair brushed down neatly against his head, was staring at her mother’s gauzy dress.

  Daisy was still so full of the beauty of the evening, and a feeling of general goodwill, that she didn’t even mind that it took him several seconds to bring his gaze to hers.

  “Hello,” he said, smiling.

  “Hello.” Daisy felt like she was in a movie, that this was the moment where boy meets girl and all is right with the world.

  “Hey,” Anita piped in. “You look awfully buttoned up.”

  “I think he looks lovely,” Daisy’s mother said.

  “Thanks, Mrs. Derringer. You look lovely, too.”

  “That’s very nice of you, Tyler. How do you like Daisy’s pin?”

  “It’s lovely.” He seemed to have gotten stuck on the word.

  “Well,” Daisy’s mother said after a moment, “you kids have a nice time. I have to go find Daisy’s father and make sure he’s not being carried off by some vixen or other.” She patted Tyler’s shoulder, and gave Daisy a secret wink.

  “Did you just get here?”

  “Yup. But you could hear the music all the way down North Water Street. It’s really a swell party.”

  “Absolutely charming,” Anita said.

  “What are you drinking?” Tyler squinted at their glasses.

  “My father got the bartender to give us some wine with water in it,” Daisy said, feeling extremely sophisticated.

  Tyler looked toward the bar. “Your dad seems pretty cool.”

  “He is.” Daisy said a silent prayer of thanks to her father.

  “He’s a riot,” Anita said.

  “I saw Peaches earlier. She said she was coming with her parents.”

  “That’s news to me,” Daisy said sharply.

  “ ‘Double, double toil and trouble,’ ” Anita said.

  “Well, she seemed pretty excited. You two are facing off tomorrow. The grand match.” Tyler grinned at her.

  Daisy bit her lower lip. “Uh-huh.”

  “Aw, don’t worry. You’re going to trounce her.”

  “Uh-huh,” Daisy said. She didn’t want to think about the tennis right now; fierce sunlight and green clay.

  “Let’s go see if we can sneak some champagne,” Tyler said, after taking a second look at the bar.

  “Daisy’s mother …,” Anita began.

  “No, it’s all right,” Daisy said, quickly. “But I don’t know how we’re going to do it. I don’t think the bartender will give us any.”

  “That’s all right,” Tyler said. “It’ll be a laugh, even if we don’t get away with it.”

  As they crossed the lawn to the bar, the band struck up “Poor Little Rich Girl.”

  You’re a bewitched girl, better be aware.

  “Daisy … Woo-hoo there, Daisy.”

  Daisy recognized the voice and her spine went stiff. Coming toward her was Peaches, swathed in a dress of pale pink netting that matched the rose she was wearing in her hair.

  “Oink, oink,” Daisy whispered to Anita.

  “She looks like a giant Pepto-Bismol,” Anita said.

  “Hey, Peaches.” Daisy shifted from one foot to the other.

  Peaches glanced at Anita, her eyes widening a bit at her black dress, and then cast her gaze over Daisy. She gave Daisy a small smile. “Well.” She turned and pretended to be surprised to see Tyler standing with them. “Why, is that Tyler Pierce I spy?”

  Daisy rolled her eyes.

  “Hello, Peaches,” Tyler said. “I like your rose.”

  Peaches patted her hair. “My mother grows them. Pink Parfait. That means ‘perfect pink’ in French. She won a competition with them last summer.” She smiled at Tyler, showing teeth Daisy thought looked awfully horsey in the moonlight. “So where were you kids off to?”

  “Well, if we let you in on our secret, you’ll have to swear fealty to the cause.”

  “I love a secret,” Peaches said. “I’m surprised you didn’t know that about me, Tyler Pierce.”

  “Swell.” Tyler laughed. “We’re going to try to steal some champagne from under the bartender’s nose. Want to join the mission?”

  “Lead the way,” Peaches said, taking Tyler’s arm.

  Daisy could have ripped that rose right out of her hair and stomped on it. She looked at Anita.

  “Don’t worry about that slug. You’ll get your chance tomorrow,” Anita said. “I can loosen her racquet strings if you’d like.”

  “Forget it,” Daisy said. She fingered the pearl pin her mother had given her. “Come on.”

  They followed Tyler and Peaches to the bar.

  Tyler turned to Daisy. “It looks like he’s keeping those bottles pretty well guarded back there.”

  “That’s all right,” Peaches said. “My father lets me have a glass of champagne at parties. I’ll ask.”

  They watched as Peaches walked up confidently and exchanged several words with the bartender, who dutifully began pouring two glasses. That’s what her mother had been talking about, Daisy realized. That’s what the it is, she thought, and she felt like crying. She didn’t have it, and she never would. No one would ever love her, or kiss her, let alone pour her a glass of champagne. She was doomed.

  Peaches walked back carrying the two glasses. “Here, Tyler,” she said, handing him one.

  “Aw, come on, Peaches,” he said. “Couldn’t you get four?”

  She looked blankly at him.

  “That’s all right,” he said. “You girls can share with me. But let’s take it somewhere where your parents won’t see.”

  “We can go to the old ice cellar behind the house,” Daisy offered.

  “Swell,” Tyler said.

  “Swell,” Daisy said, taking Tyler’s arm and smiling sweetly at Peaches.

  They sat on the back lawn and poked through the musicians’ cases, abandoned on the grass. Anita blew idly through an extra mouthpiece she found in the trumpet player’s case, while Daisy took her first sip of champagne from Tyler’s glass. She imagined she could taste his breath, sweet, left over from where he drank. But the champagne was bitter and it burned her throat. She ran her hand through the warm grass. She wanted to take her shoes off, like her mother had done when she was lying in that same spot earlier, but for some reason it felt like getting naked, so she left them on.

  Peaches took her champagne in small sips, her pinky finger sticking out as she held the glass.

  Anita put the shiny mouthpiece down and lay back, stretching her arms above her head. “ ‘How silver-sweet sound lovers’ tongues by night, like softest music to attending ears,’ “ she said to the sky.

  Daisy smirked at Tyler and handed the glass back to him.

  “Damn fine, champagne,” Tyler said, emptying the rest into his mouth.

  For a moment Daisy felt embarrassed for him; the way he talked about the champagne, and then the rough way he drank it, seemed phony. Daisy hummed along with the music to make the feeling disappear.

  “So, Tyler,” Peaches said, tipping her head at him coyly. “Are you going steady with anyone?”

  Tyler laughed. “I never kiss and tell.”

  “Oh, come on,” Peaches said.

  “Geez, Peaches, you really know how to make a guy thirsty,” he said, slapping his forehead in mock embarrassment.

  Daisy loved him again.

  “All right, then,” Peaches said. “How about dancing? Do you dance, or is that a secret, too?”

  “I’ll tell you, I’d rather have another glass of champagne.”

  “Well, I suppose we can do that, too.” Peaches rose and gave Tyler her hand. “Come on.”

  Tyler looked at Daisy and shrugged as he took Peaches’s hand. “I guess we’re getting more champagne.”

  Daisy shrugged back because she didn’t know what else to do, but she felt
a pain in her chest at how easily he had agreed.

  “I hate her,” Daisy said, passionately, after they were out of sight. “I don’t think I will ever hate anyone more.”

  The sound of “Sweet Georgia Brown” floated over them.

  “She’s a drag,” Anita said. “But just think how wonderful you’ll be tomorrow when you beat her. That’s what I keep thinking of.”

  “I might not beat her. Anyway, don’t say things like that, you’ll jinx it.”

  Daisy wondered what had become of Ed. “I’m not going to wait behind this old ice cellar forever,” she said, finally. “We’ll miss the whole party.”

  “They’ll be back soon.” Anita sat up and scooched closer to Daisy. “Do you want me to read your palm? One of my mother’s friends taught me how.”

  “No, thanks,” Daisy said.

  “Come on, we can find out if you’re going to win.”

  “I told you to stop jinxing it.” Why was everyone so annoying tonight? She felt like getting on her bike and riding away into the darkness, up Pease’s Point Way, with the air from the harbor whistling in her ears. “Let’s go find them,” she said, standing up. “I’m getting bitten by mosquitoes just sitting here.”

  She walked along the side of the house, Anita following slowly. Daisy kicked at little pebbles along the way, taking a queer pleasure in the thought that she was scuffing her white sandals. The path between the house and the fence was narrow and gloomy, and the party glowed brightly across the street. It gave her the same odd feeling as a dream she sometimes had, where she tried to call out but no one could hear her.

  She was relieved when she emerged onto the front lawn, taking in a big gulp of night air. Something—a small sound perhaps—caught her attention. Then she saw them. They were standing on the porch, Tyler’s head bent down to Peaches’s lips, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. A painted lantern swayed above them, a Japanese woman combing her hair, and for a moment, Daisy wondered how she had been able to grow her black hair so long and make it curl in such perfect loops at her feet.

  It was a quiet kiss, with only Peaches’s Pink Parfait quivering in the soft breeze, but Daisy’s ears were filled with an intense rushing sound, like being under the ocean, when it was both hushed and deafening at the same time. Her pulse hammered. She opened her mouth, but just like her dream, nothing came out.

  She watched Peaches’s arm slide up to Tyler’s neck. She wanted to move, knew she should, but she felt weirdly fascinated. And yet, she was also aware of a strange kind of not-there-ness. She was suddenly so thirsty.

  Peaches pulled her face away from Tyler’s and let out a soft sigh. It pierced Daisy. She quietly moved back around the corner on her tiptoes, like an Indian, and, pressing herself against the side of the house, put her hand on her chest to stop the pain. She thought of Aunt Helena’s smeared makeup and of her mother’s big, red smile and the couple dancing in the wet grass. She started crying.

  You’ll be the prettiest girl at the party.

  Anita nearly fell over Daisy in the darkness. She looked at her, and then peeked out around the corner.

  “Ohhh,” she whispered.

  Daisy tried to stop the tears by rubbing her eyes furiously, her knuckle squishing into the soft, damp skin. The sour leftovers of the champagne caught in her throat.

  Anita lifted the edge of her skirt and unpinned a white handkerchief from the hem. “My grandmother made me take it,” she said. “Just in case.”

  Daisy couldn’t look at her. She felt ashamed. She wanted to be like Scarlett O’Hara, to stamp her foot and toss her head and go marry somebody else. But she was scared. She had smelled fear on her opponents before, an actual odor that was part rust and part wet earth, but for the first time, she could now smell it on herself. Part of her wanted Anita to go away, but she was also afraid to be left all alone there. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of laughter and tinkling glass.

  Anita took a corner of the handkerchief and gently started dabbing Daisy’s eyes. Daisy was grateful for the cool feeling of the linen on her hot skin, and the comforting smell of lavender water and starch. She felt her friend’s hand on her forehead, her index finger tracing her brow, then Anita’s face loomed large in the darkness, and her dark eyes seemed to grow bigger. All at once Daisy felt Anita’s lips on her own. She could taste the saltiness of her own tears mingled with Anita’s breath, felt her hair brush her cheek, and the soft down on Anita’s upper lip. Daisy’s head felt light and her heart beat once, in a long, exhausting rush at her rib cage that left her trembling.

  Daisy pushed Anita away, hard, and saw her stumble and lose her balance on the path, but she didn’t care. She started running, running toward the light of the party, crossing the street to the sloping lawn beyond, weaving through crowds of smiling guests, trying to pick out the shade of her mother’s dress among the riot of color. The music had stopped. The musicians, on a break, were smoking cigarettes along the side of the fence. She found her father by the bar, and grabbed at his sleeve.

  “Where’s Mummy?” Her own voice sounded odd, high-pitched and out of tune, like the old piano that sat moldering in the basement.

  “Daisy,” her father said, his smile fading. “What’s wrong?”

  “Where’s Mummy? I need Mummy.”

  “I don’t know, sweet pea.” He looked down the lawn. “I think she said she was going to the boathouse to cool off for a minute.”

  Daisy tore down the slope toward the little boathouse that sat at the edge of the harbor. She heard her father calling her name, but she didn’t care. The only thing she knew was that she had to find her mother.

  When she reached the boathouse, where they kept the life preservers and kerosene lamps, and other odds and ends, she heard the faint sound of running water. Her mother must be in the outdoor shower they used to rinse the salt off after swimming. Daisy, breathing hard, slowed to a trot as she circled around the front, almost tripping over her mother’s dress, discarded in the grass.

  At the steps that led down to the beach, she was startled to see the trumpet player, toweling off his hair, his undershirt clinging to him.

  “Hi there.” He smiled at Daisy.

  “Hi,” Daisy said, unsure whether to keep going or stop completely.

  “Just been for a swim. Hot night.” He continued to dry his hair, looking at her.

  “Oh,” Daisy said. It seemed like he wanted to chat and she felt like she should be polite, but it was weird being so close to him there, in the half darkness. With just his undershirt on, Daisy could see the dark hair fanning out underneath his raised arm. She waited for a minute. “I’m looking for my mother,” she said. “I have to go now.”

  “Uh-huh.” He smiled slowly. “Sure.”

  Daisy edged around him and started walking toward the far side of the boathouse. She turned back once and saw him still looking at her, his face partially hidden in shadow.

  When she rounded the corner, she could make out the vague outline of the outdoor shower and the hump of Rosa rugosa bush that grew around it. Over the whir of the water, she heard her mother’s voice, humming a tune from earlier in the evening.

  She picked up her pace, moving toward the sound. Then she stopped in her tracks. Directly in her path stood Ed, his face pressed up against the wooden slats that gave the shower privacy. One palm was outstretched on a plank above his head. He was still, like always, but something about him reminded Daisy of the squirrel she had seen in the Cambridge Common once, its muscular little body twitching uncontrollably. Rabid, her mother had said.

  Maybe she was wrong; maybe her mother wasn’t in the shower. Or they were playing a game. Her brain felt sticky: Peaches’s arm circling Tyler’s neck, Anita’s face growing closer in the darkness, the trumpet player, drying his hair. A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell. Cleanliness is next to godliness. Children should be seen and not heard. She chanted her mother’s lessons, as many as she could remember, strangely comforted by the repetition.

>   Ed turned at the sound of her voice—first his head and then, dropping his hand from the slats, his whole body. He looked at her. Daisy looked back. They stood like that for a minute, their eyes locked, Ed’s face frozen, like a mask.

  “Mummy?” Daisy called loudly, her eyes never leaving Ed’s. She was no more than six feet away, but her mother didn’t hear her over the sound of the water.

  Ed started to move toward her and, for a split second, Daisy felt afraid. And then he was right there, taller than she remembered.

  “Curiosity killed the cat,” he said quietly, so close now that she could feel his breath on her cheek.

  Daisy’s heart pounded, once, twice. She was breathing hard. She swallowed. “But satisfaction brought it back.” Her voice sounded harsh and low. She felt her legs shaking. She dug her heels into the soft ground to hide it.

  Ed cocked his head, looking at her as if he was making his mind up about something.

  “What are you doing looking at my mother, Ed Lewis?” Daisy finally whispered. “Are you a sex maniac? Like Mr. Wilcox?”

  “Don’t talk about Mr. Wilcox.” His voice was hard and flat.

  “Those matches, the ones from the Hideaway …”

  But before she could finish, Daisy saw her father rushing at her from behind Ed. He’d come from the other side of the boathouse, and his speed made her panic.

  “Daisy, get away from him.”

  He didn’t say another word to either of them, just grabbed Ed and hauled him off toward the beach.

  Daisy stood where she was, watching them in the distance, her father twisting Ed’s arm as he brought his face inches away from her cousin’s. Words drifted up.

  “If you ever … my wife …” Her father was jerking Ed’s body as he spoke. “… I will tell them …”