The Sea Star

by Nash, Jean

  “Susanna!” Jay rose quickly from the stool, took her firmly in his arms and pressed her head to his chest. “Don’t cry, I beg you. Forgive me for upsetting you.”

  His low voice was resonant with remorse. She tried to pull away, but he held her fast. She felt his lips in her hair, his hands caressing her back. Despite her anger, it felt so good being in his arms, where she knew she belonged.

  How could she even for a moment have thought she might not love him anymore? Whatever he had done to Dallas, whether he had paid fifteen thousand dollars, five thousand, or even a Liberty nickel for the Sea Star, he had more than made up for it. He had lifted an onerous burden from Susanna’s shoulders. He had filled her empty life with joy and purpose. No matter how he had acquired the Sea Star, he was saving it from ruin. He, at least, loved the Sea Star as much as she did.

  “Susanna, stop it now.” He fished in his pocket for a handkerchief and dabbed gently at her eyes. “What a brute you must think me. I came here to try to comfort you, and instead I’ve only distressed you more.”

  “It’s not your fault,” she murmured guiltily, remembering the look in his eyes when he’d raged about Peter’s Beach. “You’re right to be concerned about what Dallas has done. I am, too. I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat the way I did. It’s just that nobody understands Dallas as I do. People are so quick to judge him without really knowing him.”

  “You’re probably right,” Jay said evenly, which made her heart swell with gratitude. “I shouldn’t have spoken as I did. Will you forgive me?” He lifted her chin with a finger. “Will you, Susanna?”

  She said nothing for a moment. There was a question still unanswered in her mind. “Jay,” she said hesitantly, “about that fifteen thousand dollars....”

  “Forget about that,” he said. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re not angry with me anymore.”

  “But, Jay—”

  “Susanna, sit down,” he said, tacitly dismissing the subject. “I want to talk to you.”

  She wanted to protest, but she was tired of arguing. Wearily, she sat down on the rocker. He sat opposite her on the stool and leaned forward, elbows on knees.

  “Believe it or not,” he said, “I didn’t come here with the intention of haranguing you about Dallas. When Ford told me how distracted you were, I knew I had to get you away from here.”

  “Get me away? What do you mean?”

  “Susanna, don’t you see what the problem is? Your nerves are on edge. You’re hopelessly overburdened—with your brother, the hotel, your mother.”

  “Jay, have you found out anything about her?”

  “No,” he said. “Susanna, listen to me, please.”

  “Yes, I’m sorry. Go on.”

  “I have the perfect solution for your problem. In a week or so, I’m returning to New York. Construction on my hotel here can’t go on much longer. The mild weather we’re having is merely autumn’s swan song. Come with me when I go back. You need a long vacation. You can stay at the Imperial. It’s the flagship of my hotels. I’ll show you New York. You’ll love it, I promise you. And, Susanna, if you even think of saying ‘I couldn’t possibly,’ I’m going to turn you over my knee and give you the paddling of your life.”

  She burst into laughter. Her fears and anxieties danced away for the moment like fast-escaping gas from a punctured balloon. Jay’s expression was so fierce but oh, so different from the ferocity he had shown her earlier.

  How wise he was, how perceptive. That was the greater part of the problem. Susanna hadn’t had a vacation in years and years, and at that, she’d only gone to Long Branch. Tired as she was, it was only natural to magnify every incident out of all proportion. A lovely hiatus with Jay was exactly what she needed.

  “Why, I’d love to go to New York with you,” she said in a tone so uncharacteristically submissive that Jay had to laugh, too.

  “You little minx,” he said, “are you playing sport with my sanity? I’d have wagered my life that you’d say no. I had already planned to hog-tie you and bundle you into a sack, if necessary, to get you on the train to New York.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said with exaggerated sweetness. “I’m quite willing to do anything you ask me.”

  “Be careful what you say,” he warned her. “I might take you up on that.”

  “When will we leave?” She was suddenly excited by the prospect of her first trip out of state. “What shall I pack? Oh, Jay, this is going to be so wonderful!”

  “If you can be ready by Friday,” he said, noting her glowing cheeks and the new sparkle in her eyes, “we’ll leave then.”

  “I can be ready by then. But, Jay,” she said, her thoughts returning to the matter at hand, “what am I going to do about Dallas and Peter’s Beach?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “How?”

  “In my own way, Susanna.”

  She regarded him dubiously, then thought of something else. “Jay, what about the Sea Star? Who’s going to manage it in my absence?”

  “Don’t worry about that, either.” He rose abruptly, in his restless way. “I’ll send someone down from New York to take care of things.”

  She finally relaxed. She wasn’t worried. Why should she be? Didn’t Jay always do what was best for her?

  Nine

  New York, when Susanna arrived, seemed a vibrant fairyland, all the more so because the city had bedecked itself in Christmas finery. Smartly decorated window displays caught the eye at Arnold, Constable & Company, and Bloomingdale’s. Holly wreaths with gay red bows hung from the front doors of Fifth Avenue mansions. On the frozen lake in Central Park, pretty skaters with fur muffs and their partners in fur-collared coats created a quaint romantic scene worthy of Currier and Ives.

  To Susanna, used to the almost bucolic life of a seashore-hotel proprietress, the pace of New York City was exhilarating. Broughams, victorias, and four-in-hands raced by, pulled by spirited horses. Cable cars clanged. The strident cries of street vendors pealed in the frosty air. Everywhere there was movement, movement, a continuous colorful blur. No one walked leisurely in New York City. People strode, they scooted, they raced through the streets, as if pursued by Francis Thompson’s relentless Hound of Heaven.

  If the city astonished her, Susanna was twice more astounded by Jay’s palatial hotel. Located on Fifth Avenue near Central Park, the Imperial was an amazing eighteen stories high, with oriel windows and green-tinted domes. The lobby was spectacular. French marble and gilded bronze decorated the Louis XVI rotunda, topped by a dome of leaded glass. Adjacent were two dining rooms, along with a “men’s cafe” and a “ladies tea room,” each decorated to appeal to its tony patrons.

  “It surpasses belief!” Susanna exclaimed to Jay as they walked through the lobby.

  Following the couple were Ford and Augusta, who, despite Susanna’s protests, had stubbornly refused to permit her daughter to travel unchaperoned. A compromise was reached when Susanna insisted on separate quarters at the Imperial. Augusta, gladly losing that particular battle because she knew she had won the war, agreed.

  “There’s no safer hotel in the country,” Jay told Susanna proudly. “Six hundred thousand square feet of tile was used to fireproof the place. Because the building’s so tall, I had pumps installed in the basement that can develop one hundred fifty pounds of pressure.”

  Susanna was impressed with these extraordinary safety precautions. She was even more impressed when Jay told her that the hotel had five marble staircases, a ballroom that accommodated five hundred people, and that he employed one hundred cooks.

  “But how do you manage to oversee everything?” she asked, signing her name with a flourish on the hotel register.

  “I hire good people to act as my eyes and ears,” Jay said. “Teddy Addison, the man I sent down to Atlantic City, is one of my best. You won’t have to worry about a thing while he’s looking after the Sea Star.”

&nb
sp; But the Sea Star and Atlantic City were the last things on Susanna’s mind. As Augusta signed the register, Susanna looked about the elegant lobby at the chic ladies in their stylish outfits of broadtail and moiré, cashmere, velvet, and Pompadour taffeta. It was like a fashion presentation at the great houses of Worth or Révillon. There were costumes of blue crepe de Chine with black chenille polka dots, forest green wool trimmed at sleeves and hem with sable, a delicious creation of ebony velvet with appliquéd point lace spilling from collar to hem. Susanna was dazzled!

  As if reading her thoughts, Jay said, “I’ll take you shopping tomorrow and buy you a few mementoes of your first trip to New York. Several frocks, perhaps, and a new hat or two.”

  Augusta looked up from the register with maternal disapproval. “Mr. Grainger, my daughter cannot accept items of that nature.”

  “Why, Mrs. Sterling,” Jay said innocently, “I only meant I would advance Susanna the money. She can repay me at her leisure out of future profits from the Sea Star.”

  Unconvinced, Augusta frowned. Ford smothered a smile.

  “I’m not a child, Mother. You don’t have to worry about me,” Susanna said impatiently.

  Augusta answered with a significant look at Jay, “You, my dear daughter, are not the one I’m worried about.”

  From her suite on the seventeenth floor, Susanna had a grand view of the skaters in the park to her right and the lofty spires of St. Patrick’s Cathedral to her left. If she tired of the view, she could enjoy the luxury of her two-room suite, the baroque painted ceilings, the canopied bed, the exquisite French furnishings and objets d’art. Never in her life had she seen such opulence. She felt like a pampered princess as a maid unpacked her trunk and hung her dresses in the marquetry cabinet.

  The maid, a lively young redhead, handled Susanna’s serviceable frocks as if they were priceless designs. She’d been waiting dutifully when Jay escorted Susanna to the suite. Her awe for her employer had been most evident.

  “Have you been working here long, Coleen?” Susanna asked after Jay left. She was impressed with the girl’s trim figure in a neat gray uniform, and with her deft performance of her job.

  “I’ve been here two years, miss, since the hotel opened. Before that, I worked at the Saint Andrew.”

  “The Saint Andrew? Does Mr. Grainger own that, too?”

  “He did, miss, before it burned to the ground four years ago. A terrible catastrophe it was. Thirty people were killed. It’s a wonder Mr. Grainger himself wasn’t killed. The police tried to stop him, but he just kept dashing into the building and coming out with those burned wretches.”

  “How awful,” Susanna said, moved by the tragedy and proud of Jay’s heroism. That explained the scars on his hands, but she wondered why he had never talked to her about the fire.

  “I suppose that’s why he’s so strict about safety precautions,” she said to Coleen. “An experience like that is bound to leave a mark on a person that never goes away.”

  “Yes, miss,” Coleen agreed. “One morning I saw Mr. Grainger cuss out a steward for smoking in the corridor. The way Mr. Grainger was carrying on, I thought the steward had committed murder, at least. And once, Mr. Grainger discharged a cook who started a grease fire in the kitchen because of carelessness. The cook couldn’t get another position for love or money. The staff and I reckon Mr. Grainger saw to that.”

  The girl seemed to approve of Jay’s uncompromising discipline, but Susanna wondered if such excessive behavior might not be unhealthy. It was true that a fire was a deadly serious matter, but to have punished a man by depriving him of his livelihood—

  “Susanna, there you are! I knocked, but there was no answer.”

  Augusta entered the bedroom, freshly groomed and wearing a smart tweed walking suit. “Ford is taking me for a stroll through Central Park. I thought you might like to accompany us.”

  “No, I’d rather not,” Susanna said with a frown, “but I’d like a word with you before you go. Coleen, that will be all for now.”

  The young maid left. Augusta settled on a pretty French chair. As soon as the door closed, Susanna said crossly, “Mother, will you please stop interfering in matters that don’t concern you?”

  “Why, whatever do you mean?” Augusta asked with a puzzlement Susanna doubted was genuine.

  “What did you mean by that remark you made in the lobby?”

  “Which remark, darling?”

  “You know which remark. ‘It’s not you I’m worried about.’ Implying that Jay is doing something he shouldn’t.”

  “Oh.” Augusta looked down at the gloves on her lap and carefully smoothed the fingers.

  “Well, Mother?”

  Augusta looked up with a shake of her head. “Susanna, the truth is, I wasn’t implying anything specific. Mr. Grainger seems a perfect gentleman, and he’s certainly been helpful as far as the Sea Star is concerned. I just have this feeling....”

  “What feeling?” Susanna said curtly. “Say it and be done with it. Mother, why can’t you ever be straightforward? I’m getting mighty tired of your eternal cat-and-mouse games.”

  Augusta gave her a long measured look. It wasn’t difficult for Susanna to guess that she was probably thinking this was a far different daughter from the one who had pleaded with her to bring Dallas home. Susanna’s short-lived empathy with Augusta had died a quick death once Jay had capably allayed Susanna’s most pressing worries. It wasn’t right, Susanna thought guiltily, to have used her mother in that way, but the fact was, she still didn’t trust her. And she didn’t much like her when she was deliberately evasive.

  “It’s odd you should mention cat-and-mouse games,” Augusta said in a low voice. “I had the distinct impression that you were engaging in them yourself.”

  “What do you mean?” Susanna said curtly.

  “Why do Ford and Mr. Grainger constantly but ever so subtly question me about my past? Do you think they’re planning to write my biography?”

  “I haven’t a clue.” Susanna’s tone was haughty, but she shifted uncomfortably.

  “You haven’t? Who’s being less than straightforward now?”

  Susanna’s cheeks grew hot. She’d never been able to lie successfully to her mother. Augusta had always known when she wasn’t telling the truth. In fact, Augusta, in the old days, had been a stickler for honesty.

  “Very well,” Susanna said grudgingly. “I asked Jay to find out whatever he could about you. But I’ve given the matter some thought, and I see now that I was wrong to do that. If you want to keep your past to yourself, that’s your privilege. By the same token,” she added firmly, “I must ask you to stop interfering in my affairs. If you have reservations about Jay, I don’t want to hear them. He’s the man I’m going to marry, whether you like it or not.”

  “Has he proposed?” Augusta asked quietly.

  “Not yet. But he will.”

  “When, Susanna?”

  She didn’t answer. She didn’t know the answer. For months now she’d been asking herself that very same question.

  She had no chance to brood on the matter. Her first week in New York was so filled with activity that she could think of nothing else but the delights of the city.

  As promised, Jay took her to Stern Brothers and B. Altman’s, where her head swam at the dizzying array of fashions. It was impossible to choose a dress, let alone several, from the endless selection available. In Atlantic City, Susanna had chosen her apparel from Mrs. Chaney’s slim book of dress patterns and five or six bolts of fabric. At Stern Brothers alone she tried to make up her mind between the printed India silk and Japanese foulard, the French nainsook and corded mouselline, the tussore, the faille, the satin and moiré. By the end of the day she had a towering headache.

  Almost every evening, Jay took her to the theater. They saw the incomparable Mrs. Fiske in Becky Sharp; William Gillette in Sherlock Holmes; and the beautiful Anna Held in Papa’s Wife. On successive nights, they went to the opera and the vaudeville. What a st
artling contrast it was succumbing to the spell of Mozart’s Le Nozze di Figaro and, less than twenty-four hours later, laughing uproariously at the antics of the zany Rogers Brothers.

  During her stay in the city Susanna also met many New Yorkers, men as dynamic and as wealthy as Jay. She met, too, their wives, women who understood their husbands’ work and, if the need arose, could even take an active part in it. Perhaps Augusta was correct when she said Jay wanted a wife who shared his interests. Perhaps that was why he seemed so proud when he introduced Susanna to his colleagues and friends.

  A week before Christmas, it occurred to Susanna that Jay hadn’t mentioned seeing his family. She said to him one evening when they were dining at Delmonico’s, “I’m looking forward to meeting your sisters. You did say they live in the city?”

  “Morgan does, yes,” he said, enjoying his chicken á la Bodisco. “Cornelia lives in Albany. Her husband’s a state senator.”

  “Oh.” Susanna had a feeling that she was prying. “You never told me that.” There was very little, in fact, that Jay had said about his family. Odd that she’d never realized it before now.

  “Didn’t I?” Jay was genuinely surprised. “I thought I’d told you all about my sisters. I’m very proud of them, you know. They both married well. Morgan’s husband is the director of the North-Central Railroad, and they have four sons. Cornelia has two boys and a girl.”

  “Are your sisters older than you or younger?”

  “Younger, both of them.”

  “How old are they? Are you close with them?” Now she knew she was prying, but she didn’t care. She loved Jay and hoped to marry him, yet she knew next to nothing about his personal life.

  “Cornelia is thirty,” he told her. “Morgan is twenty-eight. Yes, we’re close, though I see less of Cornelia than I do of Morgan.”

  “Will we spend Christmas with them?” Susanna hinted, not so subtly.

  “Why, yes, if you like. This will be a rare treat for me. I hardly ever spend the holidays with my family. I’m usually tied up with one hotel or another. I’ll telephone Morgan tomorrow. I know she’ll be delighted to have us.”