The Jewel Box Part 15

The boys have literary aspirations. They decide to write a novel about the girl (what a great character she'd make) and start scribbling notes for a book. Their collaboration is absorbing and fulfilling; they're spending so much time on the book that they're not seeing much of the girl anymore. Their fictional heroine is the only female around who can compete with her.

The girl doesn't know what they're up to but she knows they're slipping away from her and doesn't like it. She hasn't given herself to them so that they might use her up and tire of her. That wasn't the way it was supposed to be. She has to take control again-to set them against each other once more.

One day she summons both the boys and tells them they can't go on being a threesome. Real life is about coupling up and it's time for all three of them to join reality. She announces that she is going to choose between them, and that her decision will be final and lasting. She will take a week or so to think it over and will then summon them again to let them know her decision. The boys are far from happy about this. If she chooses between them now, it's inevitably going to tear their friendship apart and ruin the novel, too.

The boys vent their spleen together over a bottle of bourbon in their room. How can they let this witch be the one to decide their destiny? If she thinks she's in charge, she couldn't be more wrong. Their first impulse is that they should both give her up. But this is quickly squashed-they're still in love with her, the pair of them, and they couldn't stand to see her floating about the place with some undeserving schmuck. The way forward is to make the decision themselves and to impose it on her. Only one of them can have the girl. The other will get to write the novel in his sole name, spurred on by his broken heart and his jealousy. But how to make the decision?

In the end, they toss a coin. It's the fairest way, after all. Devil is to flip and Deep Blue Sea to call. If he guesses right, he gets the girl.

The nickel is flipped, spinning, into the air, and caught deftly on the back of Devil's hand. Deep Blue Sea calls heads. The coin shows tails.

Best of three? Deep Blue Sea requests.

All right, then.

This time Deep Blue Sea calls tails. The coin lands heads-up. Devil has won the girl.

In awkward, heavy silence, the boys return to the bourbon. Each tells himself he should be happy. All is now decided. It's over. They simply have to apply themselves to their newfound roles: Devil is the lover, Deep Blue Sea the writer. Why can't they be a bit more cheerful about it? For a while, they keep drinking the bourbon, barely speaking, barely looking at each other. Then, eventually they do look up. Each sees what's happening behind the eyes of the other. And finally they begin to smile.

It was past seven o'clock. Felix's sleep was getting lighter. He was fidgeting about in his cot and making little murmuring noises. Outside the room someone was walking across the landing, moving creakily down the stairs. Nancy or Mother?

O'Connell had given Eva over to Cramer and walked away with the beginnings of The Vision The Vision. He'd traded the girl he loved as though she were nothing more than a cow being taken to market. And he'd taken all the glory and the money for a novel that wasn't entirely his.

"Grace?" It was Nancy's voice out on the landing. Funny, how Nancy had been so perceptive about the book. She'd love to talk all this through with her sister-but how could she break O'Connell's confidence on something so important?

"Grace?"

And what about Cramer? One could argue that he came out of the story more favorably. After all, he chose love. And he was essentially the loser, which made him the more sympathetic figure. He'd been rewarded for his role in the unseemly trade-off by having to watch his friend become rich and famous while he spent years looking after a mentally ill wife who then went on to kill herself, leaving him widowed with a daughter to care for. He'd been punished enough, hadn't he? But looked at from another angle, he was just as embroiled as O'Connell. He'd simply been less lucky over the years. If fate had unfurled differently, O'Connell might have ended up drinking away his sorrow for his lost love while his unpublished novel sat forever in the bottom drawer.

What a mess. A worse mess, even, than the whole sorry story of the Rutherford sisters and the Wilkins brothers.

And then Grace remembered something from a long time ago. Two jacks-diamonds and spades. Were she and Nancy really any better than O'Connell and Cramer? Frankly, who was she to judge anyone?

No, that was a silly thought. It wasn't the same at all. They'd just been a couple of schoolgirls playing a game. They'd never have settled their lives that way.

The door opened. Nancy stood there in her blue dressing gown, her hand resting on the handle. "I should have guessed you'd be in here."

Felix's eyelids fluttered open. He looked, startled, from his aunt to his mother, and then his face broke into a huge smile.

Nine.

"Put out your tongues, boys." out your tongues, boys."

Out came the tongues of Topping and Humphries, two young whippersnappers from the Herald. Herald.

Grace blew a smoke ring and watched as Dodo Lawrence, the Herald Herald's main writer on subjects d.i.c.kie had been known to refer to as "female frippery," inspected the two specimens. Topping's tongue was long and pink and doglike, while Humphries's was gray and unhealthy-looking.

"Definite win for Dum." Dodo had been referring to the boys as Tweedledee and Tweedledum, and then more succinctly as Dee and Dum, all evening. They were both too infatuated with Dodo, or perhaps too afraid of her, to object to this. "What's the score, Grace?"

"Threetwo to Dum. What next?"

Dodo simulated deep thought for a moment-then, apparently tiring of that, turned around on her chair and cast about for inspiration.

The Salamander Club was jolly tonight. c.o.c.ktails long past c.o.c.ktail hour. Lots of giggling girls with floaty silk scarves (de rigueur, it appeared-both the scarves and the giggles). A good number of attractive men-many of that quiet, contemplative variety who met one's gaze with a gentle smile through the cigarette smoke but didn't press for any further attention. Even better, quite a few men who danced a good Charleston! She'd done the right thing in coming here with Dodo this evening. Dodo belonged to a category of women that Grace thought of as "professional blonde." There were lots of them about on London's newspapers and magazines, and not a few of them running art galleries, too. Platinum-haired, fine-sculpted flappers-grown-up, with loud voices and oodles of confidence and low-cut dresses in bold patterns. As with many of her ilk, you could rely on Dodo to be amusing and impersonal. There must be a serious side to her personality somewhere deep down-she was too clever for that not to be the case. But she didn't expose that potential inner seriousness too readily. This suited Grace just fine in her present mood.

It had been almost forty-eight hours since O'Connell had told her about the trade-off. She'd stayed away from him since then, mulling it all over. She knew it was wrong to judge him for what he'd done. After all, he hadn't judged her. But, having persuaded him to tell her his secret, she couldn't ignore what it revealed about him. He'd remained silent over the last couple of days. No pleading phone calls, flowers or torrid letters. That wasn't his style. He wasn't the sort to beg. He might have realized, of course, that she wouldn't want to hear from him yet. Though perhaps he simply didn't care enough to come running after her...She found herself thinking about all those newspaper stories about O'Connell the Cad, O'Connell the Playboy. She thought too about Nancy's warning to her. In a very fundamental way, he wasn't the man she'd thought he was. And she wasn't at all sure what she wanted to do now.

In the meantime, it was good to distract herself with c.o.c.ktails.

"Shoes," Dodo announced. She and Grace ducked down to peer under their table. Humphries's were black, shiny and new-looking. Topping's were brown and slightly scuffed. What's more...

"Dum, you appear not to be wearing socks! Can this be true?" Grace straightened again to confront Topping's blushing face above the table.

"Some sort of holdup at the laundry," Topping muttered.

"A win for Dee," said Dodo. "That's threeall. I do like a close compet.i.tion."

Grace bent for another look at Topping's bare ankles. So vulnerable in their k.n.o.bbly nakedness twixt shoe and trouser. Strangely endearing. When she sat up again, who should be standing beside their table but the Deep Blue Sea.

"Where did you spring from?"

"Nice to see you too, Grace." He was looking tall. Had he always been that tall? He was smiling warmly at her. Then he turned to Grace's companion. "Dodo! How lovely. How long has it been?"

"John, darling. How marvelous!" Dodo was on her feet and they were embracing-the sort of ambiguous embrace that could be platonic or then again might not be. "Far too long."

The outpouring continued when they'd sat down.

"Do you remember that marvelous evening at the Ritz?"

"Oh, of course. Simply marvelous."

It all put Grace in mind of that evening at the Tutankhamun when Cramer had turned out to be an old acquaintance of Sheridan's. Did everyone everyone have a past that featured him? He was inescapable, or so it seemed. He popped up everywhere and was connected to everybody. She looked across at the disgruntled Dee and Dum. "Want to dance with me, boys? There are points to be won." have a past that featured him? He was inescapable, or so it seemed. He popped up everywhere and was connected to everybody. She looked across at the disgruntled Dee and Dum. "Want to dance with me, boys? There are points to be won."

Out on the floor, the orchestra was playing fast. She attempted to dance with the two of them simultaneously, while they barged about, each trying continually to cut in across the other. They weren't bad dancers, either of them, but they were foiled, to an extent, by their own determination to outdo each other. By the time Grace stepped down, her feet were distinctly trampled on.

Back across the room, Dodo and Cramer were laughing, their heads close together. She was continually touching his shoulder as she spoke. Then his arm. Her hands had a restlessness, as though they just had to be on him somewhere.

"Who won?" asked Humphries.

"Neither of you. You each lose a point. Now go and find someone your own age to dance with. This is becoming tedious."

As she arrived back at the table, there was a lull in conversation.

"Talking about me?" Grace tried to make her voice light. "I suppose I'm the only truly interesting conversational subject in this place?"

"Now, now, Grace." Dodo was brittle. As brittle, perhaps, as those carefully arranged curls in her hair. "Don't let your vanity run away with you. John was talking about that young man who's about to try to fly across the Atlantic. He's convinced the fellow's going to pull it off, and he's going over for the landing."

"I know." Grace turned to Cramer. "But what if he fails? You said they're calling him the Flying Fool."

"He'll get there. I just know it. You have to have faith sometimes, Grace. You have to believe."

"That all sounds a little bit religious, John. I didn't know you were the G.o.dly sort."

That smile was still there. "Just wait and see."

Cramer had ordered more c.o.c.ktails. A gin fizz for Grace, a Singapore sling for Dodo, and monkey glands for Dee and Dum. Cramer himself was drinking something clear with ice and lemon. A surrept.i.tious sniff confirmed that it was plain water. She'd forgotten about this business of his not drinking, and now it was too late for her to be wary of her own state. When she looked across at the raucous Dodo, she saw herself reflected back. The excessive delight in one's own shrill cleverness. The expansive, clumsy gestures. The loud laughter.

Cramer had come here this evening with a couple of friends who were over from New York. "I don't know what's going on with them," he was saying, shaking his head. "One moment we're having a fine old time and he's telling a story about a trip to Coney Island and suddenly I notice she's gathered herself up tall and there's this look in her eye like she wants to kill him. And he still hasn't seen the look-he's going on with the story, and it's all about shooting rabbits in that fairground game-and by now she's sort of reared up in her seat. She looks like a cobra just before it strikes. You know? Those snakes with the hoods like the ones in the Kipling story about the mongoose? And I swear-swear-that she makes a kind of hiss and shows her teeth-and he still hasn't noticed, and he's still still talking about Coney Island and how they'd all gotten the boat home at the end of the night, and then she says talking about Coney Island and how they'd all gotten the boat home at the end of the night, and then she says 'Cecil!' 'Cecil!'-just his name, that one word-and he finally looks at her, and in one split second, all the happiness is sucked out of him, just sucked sucked out. And there I am, sitting at the table with this venomous snake and a kind of dry husk that, until one second earlier, was my old friend." He shook his head and took a mouthful of water. out. And there I am, sitting at the table with this venomous snake and a kind of dry husk that, until one second earlier, was my old friend." He shook his head and took a mouthful of water.

"So what happened next?" asked Grace.

"Well, that's when I spotted you two," said Cramer. And then he turned back to Dodo and they were off again. "Really, Dodo, it's just so great to have run into you again!"-and Dodo was preening, and Grace was thinking, please please, not more more of this. Dodo had always been one to sit back and coolly survey the men present-blow a little smoke at them, allow them a flicker of her attention. But look at her tonight around Cramer! She was treating him like something rare and exotic that she simply had to take possession of. of this. Dodo had always been one to sit back and coolly survey the men present-blow a little smoke at them, allow them a flicker of her attention. But look at her tonight around Cramer! She was treating him like something rare and exotic that she simply had to take possession of.

"What do you miss most about New York?" Dodo was asking him now. "The food, perhaps? London is so woefully behind the times. Perhaps the coffee?"

"The roof gardens." Cramer looked wistful. "Now that we're in May, all the best dinner-dance joints will be opening up their roofs till all hours. I love those long summer nights. Trouble is, you're liable to turn up to meet your friends and find a padlock on the door and the usual pinned-up notice about closure. The padlocking is just the pits."

"We have some lovely gardens in London." Grace was folding the little paper coaster on the table in front of her into tinier and tinier triangles. Each fold was more decisive than the last. "Though they're not so often on the roof. I'll have to take you out to one or two." She smiled across at him, realizing a moment too late that she was flirting. An automatic compulsion to compete with Dodo, a refusal to be outdone by her. She should not not flirt with Cramer. flirt with Cramer.

"And I miss Betsy," said Cramer. Then added, "My daughter."

"Of course." Grace eradicated the flirtatious smile. "How old is she?"

"Fifteen. She's at school at the moment. Then she'll go to my mother for the summer."

"She must be lovely," Dodo gushed. "I'd love to have a daughter. It must be awful for you to be so far away from her."

"Yes." Cramer was staring mournfully into his gla.s.s of water.

If he missed Betsy so much, why did he choose to work abroad and leave other people to take care of her? Why wasn't he with her? But then a thought struck Grace: Maybe he couldn't cope with her now that Eva was gone. Perhaps she reminded him too strongly of her mother. Perhaps she even blamed him for her mother's death.

Cramer glanced up, as she was reflecting on this, then looked away.

He knows that I know, thought Grace. She caught his eye again, and this time he held her gaze, and everything around them slid. The smoke and the music and the laughter. Dodo's voice was chuntering away behind it all (she had Humphries and Topping speaking words backward). And still Grace could not look away from Cramer. Something was fluttering in her chest, catching at her throat. thought Grace. She caught his eye again, and this time he held her gaze, and everything around them slid. The smoke and the music and the laughter. Dodo's voice was chuntering away behind it all (she had Humphries and Topping speaking words backward). And still Grace could not look away from Cramer. Something was fluttering in her chest, catching at her throat.

It was Cramer who finally broke the long moment. "What do you want to do with your writing, Grace?"

"Do?" Grace was startled at the question and still unsettled.

"Your column's good. I'm really enjoying it. But surely it's only the start for you?"

"Oh, I see." She thought of her recent conversation with d.i.c.kie. The way she'd pushed for more work on the paper and been put firmly in her place. "I'm not sure I'm really a writer. It's a hobby that got out of hand. That's all."

"That doesn't have to be all. Not if you want more. On the surface your column is just reveling in and poking fun at a certain way of life, but there's always something else bubbling away underneath. There's skill in that."

"You think so?"

"Your strength, as a writer, is the comedic approach. It's a clever way of delivering a message. Essentially, you do some beautiful gift wrapping. The question for you, in the long term, is what you want to put in the parcel."

All that d.a.m.n drink-she couldn't think straight. "I'd like to believe there's something more out there for me." She ran a finger around the top of her gla.s.s, tried to steady herself. "What do you you want in the future, John? What else is out there for you?" want in the future, John? What else is out there for you?"

Dee and Dum were tripping over their own tongues just as they'd tripped over their feet on the dance floor.

"Now say 'platypus' backward," said Dodo's red lips. "Quickly! Now try 'inconsequential.'"

Something was pa.s.sing between Grace and Cramer. A sort of recognition.

"Now say 'betrayal.'"

In the ladies', Grace stood before the washbasins and contemplated splashing cold water on her face. No-better not. Not with all this makeup on. She'd end up all stripes and smears like one of Tilly's paintings and it would take forever to put her face straight again.

Gripping the edge of the porcelain basin, she examined herself in the mirror. The crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. The lines on her forehead-were they new? She must remember not to frown in future. Frowning was fraught with danger.

Lips too thin, she told herself, as she had done countless times before. she told herself, as she had done countless times before. But don't go thinking you can fix that with lipstick But don't go thinking you can fix that with lipstick. And then: Is that mouth a mean mouth? Is that mouth a mean mouth?

Sometimes, when they were girls, she and Nancy had compared their faces in the mirror and tried to decide whose was best. Grace had sharper bones, distinct features. Nancy's face had a broad, appealing softness. Nancy would say she envied Grace her aquiline quality, her look of intelligence. Grace, on the other hand, envied Nancy's full, pouting lips. Her generous smile.

Had Cramer compared the two sisters? He wouldn't have been the first to do so. Had he kissed her sister's beautiful mouth? Nancy had denied that anything was going on between them, of course, but Grace knew to look beyond the words that were spoken. What, other than love, could have lit Nancy up so brightly after her years in the dark?

She closed her eyes and immediately opened them again. It was all spinning about in there: O'Connell saying he loved her and then telling her all that awful stuff...Cramer looking at her as though he knew her from the inside out and telling her things about who she might become if she had the will to do it. She was too drunk to fathom it, any of it. She should go straight home and get some sleep.

"Layarteb," she said, to her reflection.

"I beg your pardon?" said the woman standing at the basin next to her. Another blonde. Tiny nose, high-arched eyebrows, and wearing a dress that was a cascade of delicate pink petals (had to be a Madeleine Vionnet).

"Layarteb. That's 'betrayal' backward."

"Oh, sweetie, that's a word I know all all about." The woman patted at her unruly hair. "I've been at both ends of that particular word, and let me tell you, neither end is especially comfortable. Take my advice: Stay at home with a book." about." The woman patted at her unruly hair. "I've been at both ends of that particular word, and let me tell you, neither end is especially comfortable. Take my advice: Stay at home with a book."

As she came out of the ladies', Cramer was just coming out of the men's.

"There's something I want to know," she said.

"What?"

"Come with me. I need to talk to you away from Dodo."

With that, she grabbed him by the hand and led him quickly around a corner and around farther corners until the corridor ended in double doors and kitchen smells.

"So, ask away." And then, when she failed to speak, "What next, Grace?"

He lifted her chin and kissed her. The kiss was like the look they'd shared-it was a continuation of that look. They kissed like they were trying to break out of themselves and into each other. Her back against the wall steadied her; anch.o.r.ed her to the solid, physical world while everything else was adrift on the Deep Blue Sea.