“Of course,” she said. “I only wish we had some sort of a chaperone. I’d hate for people to think there was anything improper—”
“A word about life today. Nobody thinks anything is improper. So it’s up to us to guide our behavior. See, I have every intention of conducting myself as a gentleman, and I’d like to assume you will be conducting yourself as a lady. Can we count on each other for that?”
“We can.” For good measure, she unlocked her arm from his before following him inside.
Perhaps it was the harp music, the golden light, the glittering floor, or the combination of them all, but Dorothy Lynn’s first reaction to seeing the lobby of the Alexandria Hotel could be captured in one word—heaven. Massive marble columns lined the walls, with rich, ornate tapestries hung between. Everything was beautiful—the carpet, the ceiling, the people. Men in tuxedos and women in exquisite, sequined gowns.
“This can’t be right,” Dorothy Lynn muttered. Even if it weren’t wrinkled and limp from a day’s travel, her modest dress would seem out of place in the midst of this luxury. In fact, nothing she owned or ever hoped to own would make her fit to be a part of this crowd. She clutched at Roland’s arm again. “Why are we here?”
He gave her hand a reassuring pat. “I live here.”
“You live here?” She trained her eyes on the ground, hoping to maintain some dignity by not looking at anybody directly. “How does somebody live in a place like this?”
“Sweetheart, I’ve worked in the hotel business enough to know that, if you can swing it, it’s the best living there is. We keep two rooms reserved here for guests of Sister Aimee. When actual guests are in town, my accommodations are much less luxurious.”
“And it’s all right with her if I stay in the other room?”
“This is one of the many, many responsibilities I handle so she can keep her mind focused on higher things.”
“So she wouldn’t know.”
“Not until she needs to. I’ll go to the desk and make the arrangements.” He led her to one of the leather-upholstered chairs dotting the lobby, depositing her without a hint of chivalry. “Stay here. Be good, then food.”
She clutched his sleeve. “Don’t leave me here. Please? Look at these people, then look at me. I can’t stay here.”
As she spoke, a tall woman, thin to an almost skeletal proportion, glided past. She wore a dress made entirely of overlapping black feathers and a headband of thick, black silk. She was flanked by two handsome gentlemen in black tuxedos who shared her obvious distaste for the rumpled girl in the lobby.
“Must be some big happening at the Palm Court,” Roland said, staring the trio down with his own superiority. “People make a couple of movies and act like they own the city. They forget that a few years ago they were nobodies just like you and me.”
“You’re hardly a nobody, Mr. Lundi.”
“I’m the nobody behind the somebody. And there’s not much lower to go than that.”
“Still, I’m not comfortable here.”
“Five minutes, sweetheart. Then, if you’d rather, you can go straight up to your room. I can have your dinner sent up.”
Relief rushed through her at the thought of escape. “You can do that?”
“It denies me the pleasure of a dinner companion, but life’s nothing without sacrifice.”
Nobody in this place looked like they’d ever sacrificed a thing.
Dorothy Lynn remained perched on the edge of her seat, afraid someone might take her for an actual vagrant if she were to fall back into its comfort. She tried to make some sense of the conversations happening around her—contracts and shooting schedules and producers and studios. Movies. Hollywood. One of these people might know her brother. Well, not know him, exactly. But they might have seen him. Or looked past him, the way they made such an effort to look past her. How ridiculous would it be to walk up to one and say, “Excuse me. Do you know a young man named Donny Dunbar? I believe he might be a carpenter on your set?”
If nothing else, she could reward herself with a tiny ribbon of confirmation. Roland Lundi said he had connections. He knew people. Apparently, the people he knew congregated on the first floor of his home regularly. She’d seen him stop and shake two hands already.
Attempting a casual air, Dorothy Lynn allowed her eyes to wander throughout the room, coming to light eventually on a row of rich, dark-paneled phone booths flanked by impressive marble columns. Roland had completely disappeared from view.
Five minutes.
She straightened and stood, straightening still more once she’d gotten to her feet, and strode purposefully to the first of the empty booths. Maybe she wasn’t as swanky as all of these people, but she had a nickel just as good as any of theirs to make a phone call.
Keeping her eyes trained on her abandoned seat, she listened to the series of clicks as she was connected to long distance, St. Louis, and finally her sister’s voice after several long rings.
“Darlene?”
“Dot! Where are you?”
“Los Angeles. We made it here—all in one piece. Have you been getting my postcards?”
“I suppose so.” She sounded distracted. “I’ve been a bit busy here.”
“There’s one more coming from Denver. Can you believe it? Two days ago I was in Denver. We were on the train all night.”
“Hm.” Not even the miles and miles of telephone wire could hide her sister’s disapproval.
“Darlene? Is everything all right? You sound . . . tired.”
“Well, it’s an exhausting thing having a baby.”
It took a moment for the weight of her words to sink in. “You had the baby? How wonderful!”
“A little girl—Margaret. Nine days ago.” Darlene’s voice became instantly lighter. “Our hearts are full.”
“So’s your family,” Dorothy Lynn said, unable to imagine adding another soul to that busy house.
“But don’t worry. I got your dress finished first and shipped it home to Ma.”
She wanted to say, “Who cares about the dress?” But she knew Darlene did, and deeply. “Now I have good news to share with Donny when I see him. Besides the wedding, I mean.”
“Have you had a chance to look for him yet?”
“Of course not, silly. We only just got here. You should see it. It’s a hotel, the Alexandria, I think? Yes. And the people here—I think some of them are actual movie stars, but you’d know better about that than I do. And there’s a ballroom called the Palm Court.”
“Oh, Dot.” This time, the speaking of her name dripped with awe and envy. “That’s where some of the most important Hollywood people go. I’ve seen their pictures in the magazines and everything. That’s where you are at this very moment?”
“Yes.” Suddenly she felt more nervous than ever. “And I’m going to get a room all to myself. Mr. Lundi has it all arranged.”
“You be careful about what that Mr. Lundi arranges.”
Before Dorothy Lynn could reply, she heard Darlene’s muffled command to RJ and Darren to, for the last time, get upstairs and get in bed before she sent their father up there to give them the whipping of their lives. Thankfully, by the time she returned to the conversation, Roland Lundi was forgotten, and a more painful topic introduced.
“Ma is sick with worry over all of this, by the way.”
“She won’t care once she sees the baby.”
“Well, she’s not going to see her until after. Margaret’s just too little for that bus ride. I hope you understand.”
“Of course,” Dorothy Lynn said, not wanting to burden Darlene with her disappointment. “What have you told her?”
“Just what we talked about. That I had a postcard from Donny and you went to find him, to bring him back for the wedding.”
“All true, by the way.”
“True, but not all. You should have called me earlier, Dot. You shouldn’t have waited.”
Darlene’s voice had dropped low as a grave, and a ball of
fear rolled over on itself in Dorothy Lynn’s stomach.
“What do you mean?”
“She said Brent hasn’t said a word about the wedding. Not since you left. The announcement’s still hanging in the church, but people in town are talking, saying you’ve run off with another man. They’re feeling sorry for her having two children disappear without a word.”
“Don’t tell her.” She was met with a long, unnerving pause. “Do you hear me? Not a word about Sister Aimee.”
“You would rather she believe that you took it upon yourself to up and go to California alone?”
“Yes. Brent knows the truth, and that’s enough.”
“Oh, Sister. You can’t start off your marriage with the two of you sharing a lie.”
“It’s not a lie. Why should I give Ma one more thing to worry about?”
“Should she be worried?”
“Of course not,” Dorothy Lynn said. “I’ll tell him everything when I get home. Ma, too. But for now . . . can’t you understand? Don’t you have little pockets in your life that are all your own? That Roy doesn’t know about?”
“I do not.”
“Even your charge account at May’s?”
“The two hardly compare,” Darlene was quick to say, but Dorothy Lynn could sense that she’d struck a nerve.
“It’s all going to be fine,” she soothed.
“I still think you’re being reckless.”
“Maybe I am, but if you’d ever taken the time to really listen to Sister Aimee, you’d understand. This is a chance for me to be a part of something so powerful. I’ve never heard the Word of God the way she speaks it. And not because she’s a woman, but because she’s just so full.”
“So Brent doesn’t need to be jealous of the handsome Mr. Lundi, but the amazing Mrs. McPherson?”
“Brent doesn’t need to be jealous of anyone.” As she spoke, she saw the handsome Mr. Lundi himself beckoning her fromthe center of the room. Each sister ended the telephone call with a promise to the other: Darlene to tell their mother that all was well, and Dorothy Lynn to ensure that all remained so.
“Your lovely sister?” Roland asked the minute she joined him.
“None other.”
“And how is she?”
“Worried.”
He said nothing but steered her through the crowd that had become a web of silk and perfume and smoke. They emerged on the other side, where a young man stood attentively at a gilded elevator door.
“Evening, Mr. Lundi. Welcome back.”
“Evening, Howard. Big shindig happening tonight, eh?”
Howard shrugged. “One tycoon has a birthday, and the sheiks come out of the woodwork.”
The arrow above the door made its arch. A bell rang, and young Howard excused himself to slide open the gate and stand at the ready. Three women emerged, each wearing a dress more revealing than the next. Intrigued by the expression on Howard’s face, Dorothy Lynn followed his gaze, shocked to see that one of the young women had her entire back exposed, framed in rippling pink chiffon anchored at sharp, protruding shoulder blades.
“Winky-dink,” Howard said appreciatively, momentarily forgetting that Roland and Dorothy Lynn were waiting. The tips of his ears turned bright red, and he stepped to the side with near-military precision.
The operator inside the elevator wasn’t nearly as young or talkative as Howard. Roland said, “Fourth floor,” and with the slightest acknowledgment, the compartment shook and they were on their way. Mere seconds later, the operator announced, “Four,” and silently asked them to leave.
“Hold here, please,” Roland said as they exited.
The hallway was carpeted in a lush, thick weave that absorbed each footfall. Dorothy Lynn fought to appear calm, not wanting Roland to mistake her nerves for fear, as fear might be insulting to his integrity. He walked at a respectful distance beside her, not talking, not touching. For the first time she noticed the key adorned with a silver medallion; when they arrived at room 403, she stepped aside as he opened the door.
“Your room,” he said, taking her hand and placing the key in her palm. “Your bags should arrive shortly, and I took the liberty of ordering up your supper.”
She glanced over his shoulder at the amber-lit room, not knowing what to say.
He gave a playful tap to the tip of her nose. “Then straight to bed. And sleep as late as you please. Meet me tomorrow in the lobby at noon.”
He spun on his heel and was halfway down the hall before she thought to call out, “What’s tomorrow?”
He turned and removed his hat, managing to walk backward and bow at the same time. “Ah, sweetheart. I ask myself that every day.”
In her dream, Brent walked among the trees, stepping in and out of them like a silent, stately sprite. She heard music all around—hers, she assumed. Deep and rich, she stood within it, able to feel the very notes touch her skin. More than touch her, they held her. Catgut cords lashed around her ankles, anchoring her to the moist, cool earth. Somehow, she knew she need only call out to Brent and he would save her; his strong arm would reach through the fog of notes and pull her to the safety of the trees. But she kept silent, merely watching until little by little the music faded, the forest became light, and she opened her eyes.
The sheets were drawn up to her nose, and she could smell the hint of lavender that had so thrilled her last night when, clean from a hot bath and sated from the enormous steak that had magically appeared at her door, she’d fallen, exhausted, between them. She stretched her legs before scooting over to the cool, unmussed empty half to better see the time on the softly ticking bedside clock.
Ten fifteen.
In any other circumstances—in any other world—she would have jumped out of bed, horrified at the hedonism. But for all she knew, the revelers of last night’s party were strewn throughout the rooms around her. Today, she was accountable to only one person—Roland—and she hadn’t the first clue as to where to find him. Noon in the lobby, he’d said. Why, she could close her eyes and go back to sleep, and she might have if not for the soft knock on her door.
“Just a moment,” she said, her voice rough after so many hours of silence in sleep.
She hadn’t bothered with a housecoat last night, seeing as she had the entire room to herself, but she’d draped it across the foot of the bed. She wrestled with it now, pulling her arms through as she untangled her feet from the sheets. Once at the door, she rose to the tips of her toes to peek through the tiny hole. Fully expecting to see Roland, she rocked back to her heels at the sight of a gentleman in the familiar hotel staff uniform standing there with a large, flat box under one arm.
Cautiously, she opened the door just enough to peer between it and the frame and said, “Yes?”
“Miss Dunbar?”
Again, “Yes?”
“Delivery for you. Courtesy of Mr. Lundi.”
“What is it?”
He shrugged. “I just deliver, ma’am. I don’t ask questions.”
“Well, thank you.” She took the package from him, though he kept his hand extended long after she’d taken possession. “Oh, of course.” Her purse still sat on the table just by the door; the dime she fetched from it looked a bit forlorn in the pristine white glove.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said with heroic grace.
Once again alone, Dorothy Lynn ran back to the bed and tossed the package onto the rich, blue velvet cover. The box was tied with a thick, pink ribbon, which she tugged at with cautious curiosity. Once the ribbon was removed, she lifted the lid off the box to find a puddle of soft, rustling tissue paper and a note.
For today. We’re going to church.
—R
She pushed the tissue paper aside and lifted out a dress made of soft knit jersey. Its color so reminded her of the piney trees back home that she held the fabric to her nose and inhaled, half-expecting to breathe in the scent of them. She held it out to notice the style—straight and narrow with a band that would fall well b
elow her waist. The skirt below was pleated and would probably hit right at her knees. A row of bright-yellow wooden buttons ran down the length of the bodice, with one enormous, exaggerated disc that seemed designed to sit right on her hip. In the box, too, was a beautiful, ornate head scarf that incorporated both colors of the dress, as well as a pair of nylon stockings.
Dorothy Lynn laid everything out on the bed, trying to ignore that nagging bit of shame. It certainly wasn’t the first time for Roland to give her a dress, but those were for the stage. More precisely, for the character she played on that stage. They oozed innocence to the point of being childish. This, clearly, was a sophisticated dress meant for a modern, sophisticated woman. This, in fact, could be worn by any woman she’d seen in the lobby last night. For good measure, she turned it over, just to make sure the garment had a fully covered back.
Something shiny peeked through the tissue at the corner of the box, where she found a pair of black patent-leather shoes—high-heeled with an ankle strap. Tucked inside the toe of one shoe was a tin of face powder; in the other, a bright-red lipstick and a kohl pencil.
“Well, won’t I look smart having lunch at the Hotel Alexandria?”
Speaking the words out loud gave Dorothy Lynn a boost to the courage she lacked. She took off her housecoat and strode into the bathroom, yanking the ribbon used to tie back her hair as she did so. A flip of the switch flooded the room with light—almost blinding as it bounced off the white porcelain tub and sink. She’d left her hairbrush on the marble pedestal between the two, and she grabbed it, pulling it through her long, chestnut hair which, she had to admit, would be beautifully complemented by the green of the dress.
She turned on the tap and held the bristles of her brush under the running water before going over her hair one more time, leaving it smooth and damp. After braiding it, she rolled and pinned the plaits at the nape of her neck in the style that looked much more fashionable under the guidance of Agnes, or even Darlene. She washed her face with the cake of scented soap in the crystal dish on the sink’s edge and patted it dry with the thick, soft towel hanging from a brass hook on the wall. With inexperienced hands, she powdered her face and lightly kohled her eyes, leaving the deep-red lipstick for last. Some instinct told her to touch a finger to her lips, then to her cheeks, where she rubbed the stuff into orbs of a paler shade.
All for a Song Page 17
