He had him. Ernest Wentz’s expression softened with every word. “It gets busy some afternoons, so you might have to hustle. College kids love to come in here and study and whatnot. I don’t mind, even if they just buy a coffee or a soda.”
“No problem. No problem at all.”
“You’ll need a white jacket and black tie. There’s a shop down the street. You can buy on credit if you tell them it’s for my shop. Make sure and give them your name so they can stitch it onto the jacket.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Can you start tomorrow?”
**
A few days later, Caroline came in with a group of other girls. They sat at one of the tables and ordered coffees and pastries. Miller was invisible to them, in his starched white jacket and bowtie, working behind the counter, which was fine for now. It gave him the opportunity to observe. He must come up with a plan for seduction, narrow in on her weaknesses so that he might exploit them. It would not be easy, given his station behind the counter and her obvious wealth and prestige. She was prettier in person than in the grainy photographs in the newspaper with that fair hair and blue eyes, he had to admit, albeit a little plump for his taste. When she smiled, the room seemed brighter, and she had this graceful way of moving that reminded him of a swan gliding across a still lake. He walked out to their table, carrying his notepad. “What can I get for you, ladies?”
There were four of them, all studying sums; their books open to the same page. He was good at mathematics. He’d flown through the textbooks at the local high school when he was still at the orphanage. Grammar and vocabulary, mathematics—any subject that required memorization or logical thinking—he swallowed whole. Only history and overwrought literature bored him. Who cared to look back? Whiny protagonists left him cold. The themes in literature, however, did intrigue him. Thomas Hardy and his books of inevitable fate, especially. He seized on to the idea that it was impossible to deny one’s fate. He knew his fate. It was sitting in front of him at this very moment.
“I’ll have a vanilla soda, please,” said Caroline with a polite but distant smile.
The rest also wanted sodas in varying flavors. When he brought them to the table, they all thanked him, not looking up from their books. He went back to his position behind the counter, drying glasses and watching.
Caroline appeared to be the smartest of the group, as the others often asked her for help with their sums. After about an hour, they put their books away and chatted. Caroline didn’t speak much. How could she, given the way the others babbled on about nothing? At five, a car arrived outside the windows, and Caroline gathered her books, said her good-byes, and walked out to the sidewalk. The same chauffer Miller remembered from years ago held the car door for her and she climbed in, disappearing down the street.
“She’s so smart,” said one of the girls. “I would’ve failed my English paper had she not helped me last week. How do I know what motivated Anna Karenina to take a lover?” She giggled and covered her mouth at the scandalous word.
“I know. It doesn’t seem fair that she’s smart and nice,” said another.
“And pretty,” said the first.
“And rich,” said the third.
Caroline was kind. Kindness was a weakness to be exploited. He folded his towel into a neat square.
CHAPTER TWO
Caroline
ON THE SECOND DAY OF JANUARY, Caroline shivered, standing under an eave at the train station, rainwater streaming off the roof and splashing the wooden platform. Julius, by her side, inspected his ticket. She didn’t need to look to know what it said. San Francisco to Chicago, leaving at 2:02 in the afternoon. Having finished his undergraduate work at Stanford in only three years, Julius was departing for medical school.
“This rain. This awful rain,” she said. When she woke that morning, dark clouds hovered over the city. Just as they left from home, the tumultuous sky unleashed a downpour that left inches of water on the streets and sidewalks during the time it took to travel from home to the station. “Why would anyone want to live here?”
He would finish medical school in Chicago and marry a socialite or something, given his looks and personality. She’d long ago accepted the inevitable broken heart on the day of future his wedding. The lovely bride coming down the aisle of the church, her gaze locked with Julius’s, and she, Caroline, would seethe with jealousy, biting the inside of her mouth to keep from crying. Cake would be her consolation. The largest piece she could get her hands on as she watched Julius twirl his bride around the dance floor. She could not have something as beautiful as Julius, as good as Julius. A beautiful woman was to have him, someone in the future, sent to break Caroline’s heart because Julius would never choose her. Not fat, reliable, funny Caroline.
“Don’t cry.” He took her hands. “I’ll be back eventually. Father and I want to work together and I can’t think of where else I’d rather be than near the ocean.” His blue eyes peered into her and cracked her open so that she was nothing but a beating heart. She wanted to cling to him, to beg him not to go or to take her with him. Anything but to be parted from him. Regardless, she would not do any of those things, because they were not reciprocated. Julius thought of her like a sister. He did not feel about her the way she felt for him, and he never would.
Puffy, she’d whispered that morning when she dressed. I’m puffy like an overstuffed pillow. Her mother bought her the finest clothes, but it didn’t matter. She looked terrible in everything. Girls like her had to go through life being charming and kind, apologetic. Three years ago, she decided she needed to have a job, despite her parents’ wealth. She needed something to occupy her mind, and to feel a sense of purpose, and to distract her from the self-destructive love she had for Julius. She proposed the idea of running her parents’ charities and going to college. They had wholeheartedly agreed, and she’d been accepted at Mills College shortly thereafter. What else could she expect from her life but to dedicate herself to the betterment of others? Not a family of her own, she had thought for the thousandth time, staring at herself in the mirror that morning, just as her stomach growled. She craved a piece of soft bread smeared with butter. It would ease the pain, comfort her.
Now, she nodded, and pressed her face to the collar of Julius’s jacket. “You’ll write to me, won’t you?”
“Every week. I promise.”
“I know you’ll do well. I’m proud of you,” she said.
“I’m proud of you, Caroline. To think, you’ll be a college graduate in a few months.”
She smiled through her tears. “I’m grateful to have the chance to go when so many women can’t.”
“I’ll miss you all so much, but I’ll be home for a visit before you know it,” he said.
The train rolled into the station with an awful clatter and smoke. Trains made her want to weep. Especially this one. Be brave. Do not sob until the train rolls away, so that Julius doesn’t worry.
“This is it, I guess,” he said. “I forgot to mention that Essie and Father asked if you’d come down to visit sometime this spring? They miss you.”
“I will. I’m spending the summer there, so I’ll be able to see them a lot. I’ll take the twins for adventures to get them out of Essie’s hair.”
He grinned. “Those two. Trouble times two.”
“Yes, they are.” His twin sisters, beautiful, precocious, and slightly naughty, were turning eight this year. They looked like Julius had at that age, except they had Essie’s brown curls.
He let go of her hands and pulled his ticket from his pocket. “I’ll see you soon, Caroline.”
She nodded and took a step back from him. “Yes, soon.”
He turned away, crossing the platform in his characteristic long strides. When he arrived at the entrance to the train, he turned back, waving, before disappearing up the steps. She waited until his face appeared in the window, before she waved and blew a kiss, fighting sobs rising from her chest. “Good-bye, Julius,” she whispered bef
ore leaving the platform. She would not look back. Instead, she would go to the soda shop to study and have an ice cream. Anything to stifle the pain in her chest. Anything to keep her from thinking that her life was leaving with Julius on that train.
An hour later, Caroline walked into the soda shop. She looked to see if any of her friends were there, but it was nearly empty. It was a Wednesday. Usually they met on Tuesdays and Thursdays to study after their mathematics class. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone, anyway, and she needed to study for her first test in art history on the Renaissance period. She was ill-prepared, thus resigned to a day of rote memorization. Nothing rendered more of a state of unfocused boredom than art history. She didn’t mind looking at the paintings, although they were all depictions of the Bible and somewhat depressing, but memorizing their titles, artists, and years made her eyes cross. Taking a seat at the counter, she opened the dreadful book and began to read while she waited for the young man behind the counter to finish with another customer.
“May I help you?” The clerk had a low-pitched voice and spoke so softly that she had the urge to lean closer to hear him better. With a trim physique and brown, thick hair slicked back with pomade, he resembled a very young Gregory Peck. He wore a white jacket with his name etched across the front right pocket. Miller. Was that his first or last name?
“May I have a vanilla soda? And could you put a scoop of ice cream in it?” She went back to her book.
“You got it.” Minutes later, it appeared next to her book, along with a long spoon.
“Thank you.” She glanced up. As she picked up the spoon, she gave him a quick smile before going back to her book.
“Pretty dress.”
She looked up, adjusting her reading glasses, which had drifted down her nose, and into eyes the color of coal. He held a soda glass, drying it with a towel. The sinewy muscles of his forearms caught her eye, but she looked away before he could catch her staring. “Thank you.” Glancing down, unsure of what she wore, cognizant only of the fact that her thighs touched one another under her skirt and that her bare arms were hidden under her sweater.
The young man continued to watch her. “The color looks like a ripe peach.” He raised his eyebrows and stared at her, circling the rim of a soda glass with a corner of the towel, a glint in his eye that was either saucy or cruel, she couldn’t be sure which. She was exposed, like there were no clothes hiding her naked body. Her nipples hardened, pressing against the material of her undergarment.
She glanced down at her lap once again, warmth starting at her neck and making its way into her cheeks. What was she wearing? Oh, yes, the peach dress, made from a beautiful silk her mother had ordered from France. “Yes, it does rather resemble a peach.” Her voice shook slightly. Don’t speak. Close your book and go home.
“Peaches are my favorite fruit.” He set the glass on the counter, then reached down, bringing up another and beginning the drying process once more. “I’m Miller Dreeser.” Mystery solved. Miller was his first name.
“Caroline Bennett.” She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his hands. Breathing was suddenly difficult.
“I know who you are,” he said.
“How?”
“Newspaper. Plus, your parents were the benefactors at the orphanage where I grew up. Your mother gave me a telescope.”
It was like a strong funnel sucked her into the sudden memory. His eyes like black coal. “The boy on top of the stairs. Miller Dreeser: Telescope.” She remembered her mother’s handwriting on the white paper. “Oh my goodness. How strange that we’ve run into each other here.”
“I’ve wanted to introduce myself and ask if you remembered me at all. I figured you wouldn’t. Kids like you don’t notice invisible kids like me.”
“That’s not true. That night had a profound effect on me. It changed my perspective on everything. Gave me a purpose.”
“A purpose?” he asked. “That sounds kind of serious.”
“After college, I plan to help my father run his charities. I’m taking business courses, actually.” What? Did he not believe she could do anything useful?
“It’s obvious you’re clever by the way you help the other girls. I’ve wanted to say thank you and to pass that on to your folks, but you’re always with your friends when you come in here. Like a gaggle of geese. You girls can’t seem to go anywhere without at least a half-dozen of you clucking and fussing about in tandem.”
“Gaggle of geese? That’s not a very flattering description.” Anger rose from her belly up to the back of her throat. How dare he criticize her friends. They cared about her even though she was fat. Maybe because she was fat. She was the friend they could always go to for advice or cheering. She wasn’t competition. She was on the outskirts of it all, therefore the perfect person in which to confide. She kept all their secrets. Who loved whose beau. Who had secret longings for her father’s gardener. Everyone had a secret, it seemed, and Caroline was the keeper of them all. “Besides, geese don’t cluck. That’s a hen,” she said, surprising herself with her boldness.
He shrugged, looking unconcerned and arrogant. His looks were like Gregory Peck, but there was nothing heroic about him. Wolfish was the better term. If he were cast in a movie, he’d be the villain the heroine loved while the audience knew he was plotting her demise.
“All honking and strutting about,” he said. “All of them but you, that is. You’re more like a swan. Elegant. Graceful.”
How warm it was. She wished she could take off her sweater, but she wouldn’t. No reason to show this wickedly handsome man her pudgy arms. She scrutinized his face for a sign of a crack in his self-confidence, but she found none. He knew he was handsome, which she did not care for in a person. Julius was one of the most handsome men she’d ever seen, and it was anyone’s guess if he knew it or not. He was humble, gracious, and so polite. There it was. The pang in the middle of her heart. Don’t think of it. Fight the tears. Focus on this horrible young man in front of you. “Can I have another napkin, please?”
“Sure thing. For months now I was hoping you’d sit at the counter so I could talk to you.” He set the napkin in front of her.
“Me?” She picked up the spoon and dug into the ice cream.
“Yes.” His eyes mocked her now, daring her…to do what? What did he want? He set aside the glass in his hand and picked up another. “I’d give quite a lot to have half a chance with someone like you.”
She stared at him. Surely he was mocking her. This was a cruel man. He hated her because she was rich. She set down her spoon next to the untouched ice cream, and reached to gather her book, fighting tears.
His strong hand reached out, laying it on the top of her book. “Look at me.”
She raised her eyes to meet his gaze, feeling angry, and a shot of desire coursed through her. His eyes seemed soft, tender.
“You have no idea you’re beautiful, do you?” His voice, husky now, and low, matched his earnest expression.
“I have to go. My mother’s expecting me for dinner.” She gathered her purse and book and left, walking quickly around the block before stopping to lean against a wall. What had happened? She couldn’t understand it. Why would he say she was beautiful when she clearly wasn’t? She started to walk home, not bothering to wait for the car her father always sent at five o’clock. The rain pounded the top of her head and ran down her face, but she didn’t care. She let it soak through everything. Her jacket, her peach dress. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.
When she arrived home, instead of going into the sitting room to say hello to her mother, she went up to her room, tossing aside her school bag. She shrugged out of her dress, letting it fall in a wet heap onto the floor, and stood in front of the large, oval mirror. Her stomach bulged and her thighs pressed against one another. Even in the dim afternoon light, dimples on her thighs and stomach were evident. What could she do to reduce? Quit eating altogether? At her last visit, Doctor Nelson had told her she was thirty pounds overwei
ght and that she might consider cutting back her food intake. She had nodded in agreement when he said it, tears of shame slipping from her eyes. I can’t do it. I’ve always been fat and I always will be. She went home and ate half a pie standing at the counter, gulping down her shame.
Now, she dressed in dry clothes and went down to find her mother. Mother was in the sitting room, reading. She set aside her book, and smiled. “You’re home early. How did you get here?”
“I walked.” Caroline sat on the ottoman by Mother’s chair. “I need to talk to you.”
Mother sat up straighter, peering at her. “Why did you walk in the rain? Have you been crying?”
Mother was still so beautiful and slender, with a long neck and perfect posture. She’d gone to finishing school, as had Caroline, but Caroline suspected it had been innate for her mother. Some women were this way. Not Caroline. No, she was like her father’s mother. Plump and homely.
“I don’t want to be fat any longer,” said Caroline.
“You’re not fat, dearest. Big boned. Voluptuous like your grandmother.”
“Mother, I love you, but you’re wrong. I’m tired of being this way, feeling this way. I want to change.”
For once, Mother seemed to have no response. “Well, I don’t know. I suppose there are places to send you. Camps and such?”
“A camp for fat girls?”
Mother looked at her hands. “I’ve looked into it before.”
“Mother, you did?” Mother had lied to her all these years? She had wanted her to be thinner? She’d even looked into a place for fat girls? A painful lump developed in the back of her throat. “Why didn’t you ever mention it?”
“I think you’re beautiful, sweetheart, and I always will, but I know your weight bothers you. I want you to be happy, and I know you’re not. I see you living in the shadows, and it breaks my heart. If you want to try to reduce, I’ll do everything possible to assist you. But you have to want it. I can’t want it for you.”
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