The Ladies of Garrison Gardens

by Louise Shaffer

  It took four days. The answer wasn't a letter, it was a cablegram that the telegrapher at the railroad station took across the street to the General Delivery office. The message didn't start out, “Dear Iva Claire,” and there was nothing in it about being glad to hear from her. There were just instructions. She was to go to Atlanta to the Georgian Palace Hotel. She was to look for Room 1021.

  At first she was disappointed. The tone of the cablegram was so cold, and a hotel room wasn't exactly what she'd pictured. But then she read the final sentence and saw the way the sender had signed off. And she didn't think anymore about how bad it was to steal money from Mama. She'd do anything to go to Atlanta now. Her whole life could change after this.

  Chapter Thirty

  THE STREETCAR WAS MOVING up Peachtree Street. Iva Claire got up from her seat and made her way to the conductor at the front.

  “Are you sure the Georgian Palace Hotel is on this street?” she asked, for the second time in three minutes.

  “Yes, miss. It's just up a ways.”

  She sat down behind him so she could ask again if she had to. She couldn't miss the hotel. She just couldn't.

  This might be the most important day of my life.

  She still wished the meeting wasn't taking place in a hotel. It felt a little too much like going to a bank or a booking agent, neither of which had been pleasant experiences for her and Mama. But she had to take what she could get. The important thing was to make a good impression today. Her hands were sweating. Just in time she remembered not to wipe them on the skirt of her dress.

  If things went really well, maybe she wouldn't have to go away to school after all. Maybe she'd have a real house to live in, full time, and she could go to school in her own neighborhood with kids who were her friends. The possibilities were endless, if she played this right. She hugged the suitcase she was carrying to her chest.

  Bringing the suitcase had been a last-minute idea. She knew how dirty you could get on a train, even for a short trip. If the person sitting next to you was dumb enough to open a window, you'd get a face full of smoke and cinders, and the seats were never clean. So she'd packed her best dress in her suitcase with a hairbrush and some soap. At the station she'd washed up and changed into the clean dress.

  I need to be pretty and charming and as smart as I can be.

  But how could you stay pretty when the air was so hot and sticky that your hair which you'd set in rags the night before had gone stick straight? She could feel herself start to panic, and she knew right away what was wrong.

  I'm having stage fright, she thought with a start. She'd never had it before. She'd watched Tassie and Mama standing in the wings, hands shaking as they waited to go on. She'd seen performers throw up from stage fright. But the fear had never touched her because she'd never cared if a bunch of strangers liked the Sunshine Sisters. Today she wouldn't be able to stand it if her audience didn't like her.

  The streetcar stopped. Across the street was a big white building.

  “That's the Georgian Palace Hotel, miss,” said the conductor.

  She grabbed her suitcase and got off. The hotel rose in front of her, ten stories high with a wide terrace across the front. It was the kind of place where only rich people went. The Sunshine Sisters could never afford to stay at a fancy joint like the Georgian Palace. But she was going in. She had to. And she was going to go in as if she belonged there. No matter what happened. Heart pounding, she crossed the street.

  She made her way across the hotel lobby, not looking left or right, holding her head high the way Mama did when she went out onstage. Some part of her brain registered a green and white pattern on the floor beneath her feet, lots of polished marble, and many doormen, bellhops, and other hotel personnel in uniforms. A man in a particularly elaborate costume asked if he could help her, but she smiled regally and said no thank you, and he melted into the air. She reached the elevator and got in. She was committed now.

  She found Room 1021 quickly—too quickly. Now that she was here, she wanted to run. Ever since she'd set up this meeting, she'd been trying to believe it would be wonderful; now she would find out if she'd been right. She watched her hand reach out and knock on the door. It opened right away. She couldn't look up.

  Please let him like me. Please.

  She raised her eyes and looked into her father's face.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  SHE'D THOUGHT she was ready, but she hadn't expected to see a masculine version of her own features staring at her. He had her eyes, her nose, and the chin Mama had always called determined. His hair was lighter than hers, and he'd lost some of it, but it was stick straight. He was tall and big, but not even a little fat. Even as her mind was whirling, she was pleased that he was good looking.

  “My God,” he said, in a hushed voice. He hadn't been expecting the resemblance either.

  “Hello.” She wanted to say something memorable to mark the moment, but that was all she could get out.

  “Come in,” he said. He took her arm and pulled her into the room. She wasn't ready for him to touch her, and he didn't seem to be either. As soon as she was inside, he dropped her arm and backed away. He was still staring at her.

  “Well, we certainly do look alike,” she said, which she knew was stupid, but she had to say something. She tried to smile at him. He didn't smile back.

  He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her. She felt very small. “All right, what does your mother want?” he asked.

  “Mama?” she asked, surprised. “She doesn't even know I'm—”

  “If she sent you for more money, go back and tell her she's not getting another cent out of me. And if she ever does anything like this again, she can whistle for her allowance.”

  “Mama doesn't even know I'm in Atlanta!” Then she realized the danger of what she'd done. If seeing her made him angry, he might stop sending the cheeks. And it would be all her fault. “You've to got believe me! Mama would be so mad if she knew I was here. I left before she was awake; I had to sneak out. This wasn't her idea. She never even wanted to come south. She hates being in Georgia!”

  There were anger lines on the sides of his mouth. They started to soften slightly.

  “You're telling me she didn't know about that letter you sent? You wrote that by yourself?”

  “Yes! I wrote it and I mailed it. You always put your return address on the envelope when you send us our checks, so I knew where to send it.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “On the train.”

  “You just bought a ticket, got on a train, and came to Atlanta? All by yourself?”

  There was no need to tell him about the money she'd taken from Mama's purse. “It wasn't that hard. I travel on trains a lot.”

  “How old are you now?”

  “Twelve.”

  “My God.”

  Please don't let him be mad, she prayed. Please let him smile now.

  But he didn't. He crossed his arms over his chest again and kept on looking down at her. It would be easy to copy the way he did that, but she would never, ever mimic him.

  “Well, if your mother didn't send you, then you must be the one who wants something from me,” he said. “What is it?”

  After what he'd said about Mama, she didn't want to ask him for money for school. Not yet.

  “Could I sit down for a minute?” They were standing in the foyer of his suite. Behind him she could see a sitting room with big comfortable-looking chairs and green draperies drawn across large windows to keep out the sun. “And I sure am thirsty, if you could spare a glass of water.” She put down her suitcase to make it seem more like she was staying. He had other ideas.

  “Look, I got this all wrong. It sounded like you were threatening to come to the house. I thought your mother was trying to . . . well, that doesn't matter now. But if you're really here because you wanted to see me—”

  “Yes, that's it,” she reassured him eagerly. “And I was so happy when I heard
from you! I used to ask Mama about you all the time when I was little, but she never would tell me anything.”

  He didn't offer to let her come into his sitting room. Instead, he moved closer to the door. “I think you'd better go.”

  She was stunned into silence.

  “I never should have done this.”

  “Don't say that, please!” She finally managed to get out. “I just got here. And I came so far. Couldn't we talk for a while? I have so many questions I want to—”

  “This was a mistake. I thought you were going to ask me for money. I wasn't expecting this.” His hand was on the doorknob. He was going to open it.

  “I did come for money!” she blurted out.

  He looked relieved. It was as if he'd rather fight about money than talk to her.

  “But it's not what you think—” she started to say. He cut her off.

  “The answer is no. Your mother and I have an agreement. I give her a very generous allowance. I'm sure she squanders every penny of it, but there's nothing I can do about that.”

  “I need the money for school. Boarding school.”

  “Your mother gets enough money from me to support you very nicely. I'm keeping my end of the bargain. I won't do any more. Now I'm going to have to ask you to leave.”

  She couldn't go, not like this. Not while he still disliked her.

  “All right,” she said quickly, “I take it back, I don't want anything. Just let me stay for—”

  “It won't accomplish anything.” His polite way of dismissing her was worse than Mama's screaming.

  “But . . . don't you want to get to know me . . . just a little?”

  “There's no point.”

  Don't cry! the voice inside her head warned. But it was already too late. The tears were starting to spill down her cheeks.

  Her father made an exasperated sound. “This is just what I was afraid of.”

  “I'm sorry,” she whispered. “I'll stop.”

  But she couldn't. Blindly, she picked up her suitcase and tried to open the door. She knew she'd failed. He hadn't liked her before she started crying, and now he hated her. She had to get out.

  But she couldn't get the door open. She pulled at the doorknob with the suitcase still in her hand. The suitcase was old, and with all the yanking and pulling, she banged it against the door several times. The rusted lock broke, the lid opened up, and everything inside flew out: the soap she'd brought, her hairbrush, and the dress she'd worn on the train. Crying harder now, she got on her knees to pick up her belongings.

  Behind her, the man who had given her his chin and his eyes looked at the items on the floor and said, “Oh, Lord, were you expecting to stay here?”

  Don't say anything, warned the voice inside her head. But now she was way past the point of heeding it. She stood up so she could face him. “I brought a clean dress because I wanted to look nice for you. I wanted to be pretty, so you'd like me! But I was stupid. I didn't know there was no point!” She mimicked his cold polite voice.

  She got back down on the floor to pick up her things, but she was crying so hard she couldn't see. He got down on the floor beside her and gathered up everything. Then he piled the whole mess on a table, helped her to her feet, and led her into his sitting room. Her crying made him uncomfortable, she could tell, but he made her sit on his sofa and waited until she finally stopped. Then he went into the bathroom and came back with a glass of water. When she'd finished drinking it, he sat in the chair opposite her and sighed.

  “What did you want to ask me?”

  I won! she thought, He's letting me stay. But he's not happy about it.

  Don't think about that.

  “I'd like to know about you and Mama,” she said.

  He sighed again. “I guess I owe you that much.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  I MET LILIANNE right here in Georgia.”

  “Lilianne? Mama's name is Lily.”

  “Maybe now it is. When I knew her she was Lilianne. She's a Venable,” he said. “Did you know that?”

  She shook her head. “What's a Venable?”

  We're talking! Her heart sang. I'm talking to my father!

  “Not what, who. The Venables are show folk; they have been for generations. I think they're the only family like that in the South. They own an old theater, the Venable Opera House. It's been in the family since . . . I think it was built around eighteen-eighty. At least that's the story Lilianne told me.”

  “But Mama's last name is Rain.”

  “Her mother was the Venable. Her father was an actor who worked for his in-laws. A real son of a bitch from what I could make out.” He stopped himself. “Excuse my language.”

  “I've heard worse,” she said quickly.

  “I'm sure you have,” he said grimly, “given the life you've had.”

  There was a part of her that wanted to tell him about her life. Maybe he'd change his mind and help her after all. But that would mean telling on Mama, and she couldn't do that. “It wasn't so bad,” she said. “Not all the time. We've had some good bookings, and Mama . . .”

  The anger lines at the sides of his mouth were getting deeper. She wasn't explaining this properly. She tried to find a better way.

  “You see, being an actress was Mama's dream and no one ever believed in her. . . .”

  “So you had to,” he said softly.

  “Yes. But I'm not very talented, except I do have perfect pitch, and I—”

  “How old were you?” he broke in.

  “I don't . . . understand. . . .”

  “How old were you when Lilianne put you onstage for the first time?”

  “Five.”

  “Damn!”

  “It was all right. I got to travel all over the country and see all kinds of things. . . .” He was upset; she had to make him feel better. “I like being in the business. Even if we're going through a dry spell, it's better than being a civilian.” She was parroting every performer she'd ever met. Then she smiled to show him how happy she was. It didn't work.

  “What the hell was going through her crazy head?” he asked no one. “Dragging a baby around the country—”

  “I love the Sunshine Sisters,” she insisted frantically.

  “The what?”

  “The Sunshine Sisters. That's our act. Rain and Rain, the Sunshine Sisters.” She was just making it worse. She had to change the subject. “But you were going to tell me about you and Mama. I want to know how you met her, and were you with her for a long time, or was it just . . .” She trailed off, thoughts of Lenny coming to mind. She moved on quickly. “I don't know anything about my past, you see.”

  He was still upset; for a moment she was afraid he was going to tell her to leave again. But then he leaned forward in his chair, his hands clasped around his knees, so he was looking at the floor instead of her.

  “Lilianne was in a play. Some kind of operetta, I don't even remember the name now. She was in the chorus. I went backstage with a couple of friends to ask the girls to have supper with us. Lilianne came along. We got to talking. . . .” He leaned back in the chair and gazed at the wall. “Lilianne wasn't like anyone I'd ever met. She knew about theater—in those days she wanted to be an actress, not a singer—and she could talk about Shakespeare for hours. She wanted to have a career; she didn't want to get married and have a passel of—” He stopped as he remembered who he was talking to. “She was so different from everyone I knew. I was fascinated. I guess you'd like to hear that I was in love with her. But I wasn't. Neither was she. We just . . . suited each other for the moment. Besides, I was married.

  “In those days, I wanted something. Lord knows what I thought it was. From the time I was a boy, everyone knew I was going to take over the family business. I was the oldest son.” He sighed. “I didn't want that for myself back then. I wanted to travel, see things. But I'd gotten married, and my wife was ill, and the business was sitting there waiting for me. So I gave in. I went to work for my father and tied
myself down.” He paused. “Anyway, Lilianne came along at the right time.”

  Iva Claire nodded. She wanted him to keep talking, although the things he was saying were hard to hear.

  “She was touring through a lot of little towns all over Georgia and Alabama. I saw her whenever I could get away. I guess we were together on and off for about five months. We both knew she was planning to go to New York.” He shifted his gaze to another wall, still avoiding looking at Iva Claire. “When Lilianne told me about the baby, I didn't . . .” He was searching for words, and the polite tone in his voice was gone. Iva Claire held her breath and waited to hear what he would say about her.

  “I wanted—” he began. “I told Lilianne I'd help her find a home for it.”

  Iva Claire told herself not to get hurt about being called it.

  “Lilianne wouldn't listen. For a while, I thought she was trying to get back at the Venables. They were real proud, always trying to prove that even though they were theater people they were just as good as anyone else. It would have embarrassed them to have a bast—an illegitimate child in the family. Especially her father; he was the one she hated the most. He told her she wasn't a good enough actress to work in the family theater, and she never forgave him. One thing about Lilianne, she could really carry a grudge. . . .” He trailed off, taken by some memory.

  Get back to the part about me!

  As if he'd heard her thought, he said, “When she told me she was going to keep the baby, I said she was on her own. I had to. I can't tell you what kind of pluperfect hell there would have been if anyone knew I'd gotten some actress in the family way.

  “Lilianne was fine with me not being in her life. She didn't want any interference from me, just money. She said she'd go to my father if I didn't pay up. But I wanted to do it. I didn't want the baby to starve.

  “I knew she'd be a bad mother, but I couldn't stop her. I did make a deal with her. She had to stop acting and stay in one place until the baby was five years old. I hoped that she'd call it quits after that.” He shrugged. Clearly Mama's dream was much stronger than he'd imagined.