by Lara Parker
The champagne whirled in David’s brain, and he stumbled back outside to look for Jackie. Somehow he had to find a way for them to escape this place. It was more dangerous here than he had suspected. Why had he started the car and then driven it so recklessly? Was Jackie right when she said they had to follow the clues? He thought of the gypsy. Was she trustworthy? Did the painter actually live in the tower?
Once again, he thought of climbing the stairs but decided to first find Jackie. His heart tumbled when he saw her in front of the orchestra, swaying to the music, a glass in her hand. She was obviously intoxicated, but she seemed happier than he had ever seen her. When the beat picked up, she began another flailing attempt at the Charleston, tripping over herself and laughing.
Just then the young Elizabeth dashed across the dance floor and pulled Jackie aside, speaking to her with surprising intimacy. She wore the same pale gown fashioned from layers of fringe that floated on the night air, and a long string of pearls that hung almost to her hemline. Her hair was a golden cap of wavelets and her eyes were flecked with fire. She tugged at Jackie’s simple dress with a gesture of dismissal. Then, swift as jungle birds, they ran up the steps and into the house.
David took off after her, hoping to catch her before she got too far, but he was blocked just inside the front portal once again by the sight of Quentin.
Before he could accost the man and try one more time to get some help from the one person he knew, another man with silver hair and a matinee idol profile came from down the hall, collared Quentin, pushed him against the wall, and began berating him in a furious tone.
“Run away! With Elizabeth? Did you have any intention of coming to me first? Asking my permission?”
“God, no, Jamison. How— How did you find out?”
“This is my house! The walls have ears.”
“I— I knew you wouldn’t approve, But you must understand. I love her. More than my life! And, I— I intend to mend my ways—”
“What are you thinking? You must be out of your mind!”
David realized that this must be Elizabeth’s father, Jamison Collins, the famous actor. He was red-faced and sputtering.
“You will never change. You and I both know that!”
Quentin stammered out an explanation. “I— I will sacrifice—give up anything to make her happy. Please, listen—” But the other man would not let him speak. Reaching up, he grabbed the front of Quentin’s blue cravat and leaned into him, looking up at the taller man with his eyes flashing and his top lip curled in contempt.
“This is my daughter, the most remarkable and … and precious thing in my life.”
“And mine…”
David’s mind whirled, then became clear. They were speaking of his Aunt Elizabeth, and she and Quentin were planning to run away.
“Have you forgotten that I have known you all my life?” Jamison continued. “That ever since I was a child, you have been … like this!” The older man stepped back, swept his hand into the air with a dismissive gesture, and glared at Quentin. “Have you forgotten that I know what you are?”
“Jamison, I beg you. Please give me your blessing. I love her.”
“I will not stand by and see you jeopardize Elizabeth’s happiness. You are both Collinses. Don’t you realize that she is your great niece? Do you intend to add incest to all your other crimes? What if—God forbid—there was a child?”
Now David remembered the moment in the drawing room when Quentin had spoken to Elizabeth with such affection. He held his breath. Once again he was caught up in a pageant from the past. Was he meant to witness these scenes? He shook his head to clear it.
Quentin stood with his head bowed, his hands clenching and unclenching. “I’ve made her a promise. I’ve promised to marry her, to take her away. How can I explain?”
“I will explain. I will tell her that you changed your mind.”
“What will she think of me? That I am a conniving rake—who could not keep his word.”
“Wouldn’t you rather she be heartbroken for one day, than for her to be unhappy all her life? She’ll simply think that you were after her money, pure and simple, and when you heard that I intended to disinherit her if she ran off with you, you took the next train to New York. She’s nineteen. She’ll get over it.”
“Perhaps she will. But I will not,” Quentin whispered.
Quentin’s anguish was painfully obvious to David, and he thought of Jackie and how much he loved her. He would never be able to give her up. Perhaps she was right. Because they had gone searching for the family secrets, they had been swept into the past. Things that had been kept hidden were being revealed.
He walked back outside, hoping Jackie would come out of the house. The party was now reckless with tipped-over tables, plates and glasses on the lawn, and drunken guests laughing hysterically to the music. He heard the words to the song, I wanna be loved by you.
Fifteen
“I want you to be the prettiest girl at my party, prettier than me!”
There were three girls in the room, the first who said her name was Liz, and Lucy Anne and Constance. “No, don’t peek in the mirror yet,” Liz said in a fluttery voice. “I want you to be completely amazed. Because, when I am finished with you, kid, you will be the cat’s meow!”
Her mind reeling, Jackie stood in their midst wearing the third dress they had pulled over her head in that bright hour, and they all sighed and exclaimed that this was the one for her. She reached down and fingered the beaded skirt and smoothed the silken sheath over her bare chest.
They tugged at her, pulled her this way and that as if she were a china doll, but their attentions felt like caresses. She had friends, laughing friends, who seemed to delight in making her beautiful. Their gay chatter filled the room as they brought her underwear, slippers, and even jewelry, and every remark between them initiated peals of hysterical laughter.
Incredible as it seemed, she and David had somehow been whisked back in the magical car to the 1920s, and the lovely girl who had befriended her was the young Elizabeth. Jackie had wandered the grounds of Collinwood in a daze, recognizing some things but bewildered by others, and she had drunk several glasses of champagne, which made her feel light-headed and a little sick, but she intended to treat it all like a dream and she was determined not to be frightened.
Jackie looked at the gorgeous room hung with heavy curtains on the windows as if to hide the high jinks within, walls painted a deep wine color, a Victorian armoire, lamps with stained-glass lampshades and a four-poster where Liz had just tossed an armload of silken undergarments, all creamy ivory, and embroidered with flowers and tiny tucks inserted between the panels.
“Oh, look,” Jackie cried. “I’ve never seen such beautiful things. They make me want to cry.” And she gathered them up in a snowy cloud of silk and satin.
“They’re left from my trousseau,” said Liz. “Here, try this one.” She removed Jackie’s dress and slipped on the lace teddy. “You’re so young. Look at you, a figure like a boy’s. You can wear anything! No womanly curves to get in the way.” And she lifted Jackie’s hair. “Just the neck—no good. We’ll have to get rid of this hair.”
“Oh … okay.”
“The modern look is all about the neck now, and the shoulders, and the bare back.” She laughed an infectious laugh that made Jackie laugh in response, her cheeks warm from the champagne.
She looked down at a dressing table that was cluttered with silver brushes, pots of rouge and lipstick, various creams, and a crystal ashtray holding several cigarette butts tinged with red. Sitting on a tiny stool and smoking a cigarette in a long holder was Lucy Anne, a long-limbed girl who wore a little hat that looked like an upside-down bucket, covering all her hair except for the curls that peeked out from under the brim and shadowed her eyes. Both she and Constance were dressed in what appeared to be nightgowns like the lingerie on the bed, delicate lace-trimmed chemises that covered very little of their anatomy, and their legs were bare.
Lucy Anne, whose eyes were smoky, handed her a cigarette. “Here, Ducky,” she said with a wink, “time to do what the boys do,” and the girls watched grinning as Jackie took a tiny suck from the end, then exploded into coughs.
“You’ll get used to it,” said Liz. “I can’t believe you live in the Old House,” she said. “I thought Daddy had closed it all up.”
“Or turned it into a speakeasy…,” said Lucy Anne.
“Are you crazy? The basement is where they bottle the whiskey. The casks stretch the whole length of the house.” She turned to Jackie. “Have you seen the tunnels?”
Bewildered, Jackie shook her head.
“They go all the way to Widow’s Hill.”
Jackie tried to keep up. “Is that so they can pitch the beer into the sea?”
“No, my darling, only the best Canadian whiskey. Daddy’s just got a new shipment.”
Jackie had been studying the three girls with fascination, even though it all seemed like a dream. Two were pretty—Constance an athletic brunette and Lucy Anne with her quaint little cap—but Liz was the real beauty; not only her slim body and delicate face, but her whole demeanor was enchanting.
“Well, I’m a founding member of the Anti-Saloon League.” Lucy Anne giggled as she lifted up her skirt and pulled a tiny silver flask from her garter. “Lips that touch liquor shall never touch mine!” she sang out in a mocking voice before taking a swig and offering it to Jackie. “Come on,” she said, “it’s now or never!”
The flask was smooth and cold in Jackie’s hand and so adorable she couldn’t resist taking a taste. It was like fire down her throat and she shook her head and giggled. Tears came to her eyes.
“What shall we do with her hair?” said Constance, who had been assessing Jackie’s new look.
“We can bob it,” said Lucy Anne.
“You don’t want to bob it, do you?” Liz asked her, her voice breathless and her face bright with excitement.
Jackie laughed. “Sure. I don’t mind.” At that moment she would have consented to anything.
“It’s much too luxurious.”
“Then she can’t be a flapper. We can’t vamp her up!”
“We can pile it up on top of her head, make her into a Gibson Girl. She does have an old-fashioned look,” said Constance, lifting the silver flask to her mouth. “Don’t you have a gown?”
“I have a Schiaparelli! It was made for me in Paris!” Liz pulled another dress from the closet, this one with a skirt made entirely of chiffon petals all the way to the floor. “She’ll need a corset.”
“Too bad. We’ve hung all our corsets on the fence for the blackbirds!”
Constance held the dress up to Jackie. “Look. Look at her. She’s perfect!”
“Do you want to be a Gibson Girl, Jackie?”
Jackie stroked the chiffon. She felt dizzy and a little sick to her stomach. “I want to be what you are,” she said with a smile.
“A flapper?”
“Yes…”
Liz said, “So, wait, I know, we can put it in a cloche. I have just the thing!” She dug a hat of golden satin out of her top drawer and began to stuff Jackie’s hair into it.
“We’ll make you a flapper yet,” she said, her smile lighting up, “and a blonde, too. Just think, you can dance all night, smoke cigarettes, and drink champagne.”
“And neck,” giggled Lucy Anne.
“She’s too young,” said Liz. “You’re the naughty bearcat who necks.”
“Well, boys dance most with girls they can kiss,” Lucy Anne said to Jackie. “Don’t you love to dance? In sheer abandon! And listen. I’ll give you the goods. It doesn’t matter what you do or don’t do. As long as they think you will do it.”
“Is necking what I think it is?” asked Jackie.
“Kissing passionately but keeping his hands off the rest of you.”
“And the rest of you is petting?”
“I kiss lots of boys, but after kisses I make them stop,” said Constance. “Girls who go all the way are fools.”
Jackie suddenly remembered being in the car with David. “Oh, I think so, too,” she said, wanting to be part of the conversation.
“You are all so naive,” said Liz, who stood back and surveyed her work. She winked at Jackie. “Obviously you have never been in love.”
“I really don’t see a bit of harm in kissing a boy you like,” said Lucy Anne, “even one you don’t want to marry. I get such a thrill. I think it’s natural to want men to kiss you. If I have a few nights without dates I go nearly crazy. I want to go to an all-night necking party!”
“Petting can lead to an engagement,” said Constance thoughtfully. “He will want you awfully. You can say, ‘Aren’t you terrible,’ and let him go a little further. But the point is always to turn him into a husband.”
“Preferably rich, so you can go to Europe every year and have peaches for breakfast.”
Feathers flew, a jeweled headband with a few sprigs of peacock. “Here are some new step-ins, no pantaloons for you!” said Liz, now excited. “Stockings rolled up to your thigh. There, now when you dance you can show the back of your knee.”
The silver flask went round again.
“All I want is to be in love.” Lucy Anne sighed.
“You don’t want to work?” Constance asked.
Liz answered seriously, “Just being in love is work enough for a woman.”
Jackie found Liz fascinating. She did seem spoiled in the way a wealthy girl who went to finishing school is something of a natural snob, but she was so delighted with herself, so charming, that Jackie forgave her any conceit. The slip of a dress clung to her body, each bone and curve accentuated, but it was her radiance, her slow smile, her air of mystery that seemed to suggest a capacity to give pleasure to others simply with her presence in the room. Her dark eyes possessed a faraway look, slightly troubled or preoccupied. Then Jackie realized why.
“Oh, come closer, don’t back away,” Liz cried, “I’m so nearsighted I can barely see across the room without my cheaters!”
Liz rummaged through her bureau while the other two girls leaned back on the settee, a lovely picture of insouciance and laziness.
“Would you kiss a man you didn’t like?” said Constance, drawing on her cigarette.
“I’ve had enough kissing. I’ve decided to become more mysterious!”
“But you’re still a flapper, Liz. You’ll always be a flapper.”
“I know,” she said thoughtfully, pursing her mouth.
“And you’ll always have lovers.”
“Stop…”
“Where is Quentin tonight?”
“Don’t call him that. He’s in disguise.”
“He’s much too old for you, you know.”
“How old is he?” asked Constance.
“Well, he’s not a silly boy, if that’s what you mean,” insisted Liz. She was applying makeup to Jackie’s face, kohl around her eyes, and bloodred lipstick. “He’s the kind of man who can do anything, and he will take care of me. At least he didn’t die in the damn war. He’s going to make a delivery for Daddy tonight, and I’m going with him. I want to meet these gangsters he talks about.”
Constance gasped. “Aren’t you afraid?”
“No. Why should I be?” she said, pausing with her brush.
“They have guns.”
“I know. Isn’t it thrilling?”
“Liz, you can’t be serious.”
“Why? I’ve done it before. And you’re coming with me, right, Jackie?” Something fluttered in Jackie’s chest, and for a moment she was afraid, but she pushed whatever it was back inside.
“Sure,” she said. “Of course I’ll come.”
“He needs us to sit on the whiskey! He says two girls in the backseat won’t arouse suspicion. We’ll be the decoys! We only have to drive it as far as the Blue Whale.”
“But they shut the Blue Whale down. It’s only a restaurant now,” said Constance.
&nb
sp; “No, silly, have you ever looked in the back beyond the ladies’ room? There’s a blind pig hidden behind the door.” She lifted Jackie up by her fingertips. “Now, tell me what you think, baby. Aren’t you just the cat’s pajamas?”
Slowly she turned Jackie to a cheval mirror, long and oval on a mahogany frame, and reached back to adjust the glass. Jackie watched her reflection fly past in a blur until it revealed her bare shoulders, her delicate neck, and finally her face beneath the golden satin cap. She did not recognize herself.
“You look beautiful! Do you like it?”
She stared a second at Liz’s eager face before she turned back to the mirror. Her eyes were a shade of turquoise blue she had never seen before. She lifted her hands to cover them, but the reflection remained motionless, breathing and alive, and stared out with a look both arrogant and defiant. Jackie gasped in nervous disbelief. This could not be her reflection. She looked exactly like her mother!
Trumpet music wafted up through the window and a loud voice could be heard shouting. Someone seemed to be making an announcement.
Jackie stared at herself dumbly, afraid to move. Then she reached for the cloche covering her hair.
Constance grabbed Lucy Anne’s hand. “Hurry! The show’s starting. You don’t want to miss it!”
“What … what is it?” said Lucy Anne.
“One of those Houdini imitators,” said Liz, who was watching Jackie. “Daddy made him show he could open his safe before he would hire him for tonight’s entertainment. They plan to strip him naked and search him for wires before he begins.”
Jackie pulled the golden hat off her dark curls.
“You don’t like it?” asked Liz.
Jackie bit her lip and shook her head. The champagne, the cigarettes, and the swallows of whiskey were making her feel nauseated. Her legs gave way and she thought she was going to faint.
Quickly, she looked around. “Where am I?” Fortunately, there was a china washbasin on a small table beside the bed, because up it all came.
