"Yeah, the hordes are gathering." Mom began to powder her face. "And where's the money going to come from?"
"That's the beauty of it. I don't have to put up a cent right away, see. Tom can swing the price, he says. And then, down the road, I can buy my half out, bit by bit. After the stores sell and I get the money out of them, I pay off the debt load."
"How do you know the stores will sell?"
"They're a great investment!"
"You said you were overextended —"
Overextended. I realized that I'd heard that word before, back home, in boring conversations I wasn't supposed to be listening to.
"The new store in Brooklyn is in a dead location — how was I to know? The guy was a cheat who sold me that lease. What is this with the roadblocks?"
"I'm just trying to dope it out, Joe. What's the catch?"
"No catch. Look, I'm sick of selling appliances."
"Already? You said it was your ticket to being a millionaire."
"There's more than one road. This place is busting to develop. I'm sick of Queens — I've lived there all my life. Look at all the servicemen here, getting a taste of sunshine and orange juice. You think they want to head back home after this? Come on, sweetheart. Can't you see us here?"
"Big plans," Mom said. She was looking in the mirror, but she wasn't looking at herself, she was looking at the reflection of the window, out into the still strong sun of a tropical evening. It was like she already was bored with it, bored with this whole bright change that Joe was giving her.
She married a guy who delivered soda and pumped gas for a living and now he owned three stores. We'd been scroungers, too, all our lives, saving up for new shoes, sewing ruffles on the hems of my dresses when they got too short to wear. Now here we were sitting in a suite in Palm Beach. All because of Joe. So why wasn't she trusting his smarts?
Florida. Could Joe be serious? I tried on the idea. It meant leaving Margie and my school. I was surprised to find that it wouldn't break my heart. Margie would cry crocodile tears, send me two letters about how much she missed me, and then I'd never hear from her again.
I didn't know how I knew that, but I suddenly knew it was true.
People like to start fresh, Mom had told Peter. Everybody wants that sometime. Even when you're my age. Maybe especially if you're my age.
Peter's father had business interests in Miami, he'd said. And he seemed at loose ends. What if Peter moved here, too?
For one long moment, it all seemed possible. Now I was looking at Mom with as much concentration as Joe was.
Mom stood up and went to the closet. She picked out her white dress, the one with the full skirt embroidered in black and red thread with flowers. She held it out. "Here, Evie. This will look sweet on you."
"Really?"
I held the dress in my arms and hurried into my room to put it on. I could hear Joe through the door. I stayed close. I didn't want to miss a word.
"A little faith might be nice from my own wife. Maybe you just have a problem catching up. The war is over, I did my bit, and now there's money to be made. I'm not going back to what I was."
I pulled the dress over my head. I zipped it up myself the way I'd seen Mom do, squirming to get it up from the bottom, then the top. It fit like a dream. I loved the scooped neckline. It was a day dress, not an evening dress, but still.
"Nobody's saying that. I just don't know what Grayson gets out of the deal, that's all."
I could see Mom's point. Mr. Grayson and Joe were vacation pals, but what did he really know about Joe, and what did we really know about him?
It could all explode in our faces
I slipped into my new sandals. I walked out, hoping to get a reaction, but Joe was at the window, his back to us. Mom met my eyes in the mirror and smiled, then shrugged. That was the thing about Joe: If you crossed him, he got sulky. Mom always said that he needed one hundred and ten percent support.
Mom put down the brush in her hand. She looked at herself in the mirror, and I saw that it cost her something to stand up. But she did. She went over to Joe and put her hand on his shoulder.
"What do I know," she said. "I'm just a worrier. You know that. I'm sure it's going to be swell. Let's go down to dinner and celebrate."
"I'm not in the mood now."
"Sure you are, baby." She put her head on his shoulder. With murmurings and coaxings, she got him to put on his dinner jacket and smoke a cigarette while he waited for Mom to slip into her favorite blue cocktail dress.
He was in a worse mood now, though. "How was the movie?" he asked begrudgingly.
"Bogie in bandages," Mom said, waving a hand while she put on her lipstick.
"And how was the esteemed-in-his-own-estimation Peter Coleridge?"
"Cute kid," Mom said.
"He's a two-bit chiseler," Joe said. "I don't want him hanging around."
"C'mon, Joe, he's a kid."
"He's no kid, and I mean it. I knew him in the service. You, too, Evie. No puppy love crushes allowed on that sharpster."
Puppy love! I was so cheesed I couldn't speak.
Mom shrugged. "All right, Joe, but we can't avoid him completely. Tom invited him to our table for dinner tonight."
"I can't do anything about that," Joe said. "But as for you two, stay away from him."
I had always treated Joe as my dad. What he said stuck. He made the rules of the household.
It would be the first time I disobeyed him. And I would do it without even thinking twice.
Chapter 14
Mom looked so beautiful and glowy that I thought I'd be wallpaper, like I always was, but that night started something new. Mrs. Grayson waved and said, "Ooh la la, look at you. I know it's supposed to be girl-boy, but Evie, come sit next to me." Mr. Grayson told me I looked "very lovely this evening." He said it in a shy, courtly way that made me feel even prettier.
Peter stood up and pulled out a chair next to Mrs. Grayson, which meant he would be on my other side. Joe glowered as I sat down.
Peter leaned closer. "I guess I'm your boy, then, Evie," he said.
"And I'm your girl," I said right back.
There I was, right at the dinner table, in a grown-up dress. Candles were lit, the windows were open to catch the breeze, and everyone looked beautiful.
I was starting to catch the rhythm of the grown-up talk, how most things were a setup for a joke. And how people laughed at things even if they weren't funny, as long as they were said in a funny way. Joe had heard from somebody that there was a rumor that two German sailors had rowed to the beach from a submarine during the war. They'd had a drink at a bar and gone to the movies. Mrs. Grayson said people were way too afraid of spies and not afraid enough of politicians. That made everyone laugh. Peter said he was sure the story was true because everybody loved the movies, even Germans. Joe said we should have sent Lana Turner to Berlin and Hitler would have surrendered. Everyone laughed again.
His face flushed, Mr. Grayson held out an arm. "You see? Right here, at this table — this is how this hotel should be."
"Even on these awful chairs?" Mrs. Grayson asked. Everyone laughed, but I saw a line of worry between her eyebrows. There was a crease there that I was becoming familiar with, that you didn't see if you didn't look.
"With Joe and I running the place, it can't lose," Mr. Grayson said.