Chapter 13
CHAPTER 13
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 14, 1927
L ouisa
By the time I am positioned in Mr. Olson’s automobile, the effects of the tea are wearing off. My embarrassment follows me all the way home.
Barely after learning of Mr. Barnes’ stay at the hotel, I have ruined any chance of properly introducing myself. What a fool I was to not see the melting snow. I shake my head at my current predicament.
What a mess I’ve made of things. I have humiliated myself in front of the one person who might have offered me a future in Hollywood, and I’ve cost my family several days of wages. Despite having had little expectation of earning the fifth-floor maid’s holiday bonus, any chance I might have had has vanished now. I can only imagine the worry coursing through Clara’s head as Mr. Olson’s car pulls away from The Hamilton’s front entrance and turns into traffic.
Usually, the opportunity to ride in a fancy automobile such as Mr. Olson’s would be the highlight of my week. Sadly, the brief ride is riddled with bumps and turns. With a slicing pain running through my ankle, I barely open my eyes to enjoy the wintery view.
Clara sits beside me in the back seat, one hand clutching her bag, the other gently supporting my leg stretched across the seat. She winces every time I do, and though I suspect she would like to comment, she holds her tongue.
Mr. Olson and Mr. Thompson chat in the front bench seat as we rumble down Georgia Street, the late afternoon gloom doing little for my mood. Ms. Thompson’s brother insisted on accompanying us home, mentioning the three flights of stairs he assumed we needed to climb in order to reach our apartment.
I am contemplating this bit of information when Mr. Olson asks over his shoulder, “Which building did you say you were in?”
Before Clara or I can answer, Mr. Thompson speaks up. “The Newbury. Corner of Thurlow and Robson.”
My eyes grow wide. I turn to Clara in time to see her face, illuminated by the street lamps, quickly turning a shade of red I’ve never seen her wear. She looks away, avoiding my gaze by staring out the window. There is definitely something going on here. I can’t imagine how I missed it.
As we pull up to the apartment building, I release an anxious sigh, knowing the next few minutes are likely to be uncomfortable if not downright unbearable. Clara gets out first, reaching one arm back for me. I slide my uniform-clad body, injured foot first, toward the open door. As I near the edge of the car’s rear seat, I am met by Mr. Thompson’s friendly face. His grey-blue eyes are striking this close up. No wonder my sister has been keeping mention of him from me.
Mr. Thompson offers me a shy smile. “The way I see it, we can struggle up three flights of stairs with all of us squished together, with you in the middle to lean on us. Or, if you are comfortable, Miss Wilson, would you allow me to carry you up the stairs with the utmost care?”
Even I see the potential disaster of having all of us crammed into one stairwell. A twinge from my ankle nudges me to let go of my shame and accept Mr. Thompson’s offer with a quick nod of my head.
Clara pauses inside the lobby as Mr. Olson holds the front door open while Mr. Thompson slides through sideways with me in his arms, careful not to bump my dangling leg in the process. With my arms wrapped around his neck for security, his eyes barely stray from Clara’s as we pass through the small entrance of the lobby.
I am certain the man is smitten with my sister, and the thought allows my mind to wander from the torment my ankle is experiencing while he carries me up three flights of stairs.
At the top of the landing, Clara rushes around us with the apartment key in hand. She twists the knob and pushes the door wide. I imagine her doing a mental inventory of the state of our apartment. Given her steadfast nature and the work she puts into keeping our home in spotless condition, I am confident she has nothing to worry about.
“Maybe we should lay her on the sofa. That way, she can stretch out.” Clara walks into the apartment and turns at the end of the hall, bypassing our shared bedroom before entering the living room. “Just in here.” Clara’s cheeks flush again as Mr. Thompson moves past her and gently lowers me to the sofa.
“Clara. Lou.” Papa’s voice echoes through the quaint quarters of our home. “Why is the door open?”
“Papa,” Clara says as she moves quickly to head him off in the hall. “We tried to telephone. Everything is fine, but?—”
“Clara?” Papa steps into the living room and stops abruptly at the sight of two men he’s never met standing in his living room. “Hello.” Papa extends a hand, though his automatic politeness doesn’t quite reach his usually kind eyes. “And you are…?”
Papa shakes Mr. Olson’s hand and then Mr. Thompson’s as they introduce themselves before his gaze moves to me on the sofa.
“Lou.” Papa kneels beside the sofa. “Are you all right?”
“I feel a fool.” My guard crumbles as he takes me in his arms. “I’ve twisted my ankle.” Though I hold the tears at bay, ripe emotion laces each word.
“Don’t worry, darlin’. We’ll get you fixed up in no time.” Papa squeezes my hands in his. “It’ll all work out.”
Papa stands and faces the men again, relief replacing his wary expression. “Thank you for bringing them home.” His eyes shift toward the telephone on the wall. “I suppose that contraption only works if I’m here to be on the other end of it. I appreciate your effort in getting them home safely. Can I offer you a cup of tea or water?”
The men decline Papa’s offer, and after a few more explanations of the day’s events, he walks them to the door, thanking them again for their help.
From my vantage point on the sofa, I watch the exchange between Mr. Thompson and Clara. Neither utters a single word to the other, but one would have to be oblivious to miss the connection between them. I look forward to hearing what my sister has to say on the topic.
An hour later, Clara has placed my injured foot on a pillow and wrapped the rest of me in a blanket. Tea and a light dinner of toast and eggs is all my overwrought stomach can handle.
I am wallowing in the ramifications of today’s events. My chance to be discovered by a Hollywood director was within my reach, and now I’m left to stare at the four walls of our tiny apartment for who knows how long. I can hardly believe my bad luck.
I shake thoughts of the setback from my head. The best thing I can do now is recover. The sooner my ankle is healed, the sooner I can revisit properly introducing myself to Mr. Barnes. He was kind and helpful. I can’t imagine he would be so unforgiving as to not wish to speak with me. Besides, I am at least memorable to him now. That is something. It’s not ideal, but perhaps it is something I can work in my favour.
The smell of dinner wafts through the apartment as Clara cooks a proper meal for herself and Papa. The telephone rings, startling me from my all-consuming thoughts.
“Hello, Wilson residence.” Clara answers the phone with a lift to her voice, despite the weariness I know she must be feeling. “Oh, hello, Thomas.” She turns in my direction as I swivel my neck to see her better. “Louisa can’t come to the telephone at the moment.” Clara lifts her shoulders in question, a strained expression stretching her lips. “She is here. But she has twisted her ankle and isn’t able to make it to the phone.”
Disappointment pushes me back into the sofa cushions as I consider all the things I am going to miss while my ankle heals.
“Come here? I’m sure that would be fine. We are about to have dinner, so perhaps thirty minutes or so. Okay, we will see you then. Goodbye.”
A hand covers my face. As soon as I hear the click of the phone being returned to its handle, I press Clara. “Why did you say that? I am a mess. He can’t come here.”
Clara stands over me. “He said it was important. He needs to see you tonight. Besides, I don’t think you look a mess. You are stunning, just as you are.”
“What’s this?” Papa enters the living room after freshening up from his day’s work. “Company is coming?” His soft chuckle does little to lighten my mood. “I’m not sure this apartment has ever seen so many guests, all of them arriving in one day. You know I’ve not met the boy properly yet, Lou. You can’t hide him from me forever.”
“I’m not hiding him from you,” I grumble. “I’m not sure I have much more in me tonight is all.”
Clara, clearly having lost her mind along with all sympathy for me, turns on her heel. “Well, I guess you’d better find a little more, because Thomas will be here in half an hour.”
While the rest of my family eats dinner and cleans up, I run a brush, which Clara reluctantly deposited on my lap, through my hair. I haven’t seen Thomas since before the audition. We spoke on the telephone once, and he mentioned a busy week planned, with work at the theatre club and some housekeeping items.
Perhaps he has good news and wants to tell me in person. Maybe he has another role for me. My spirits lift at the thought of seeing him, and I concede that maybe Clara knew what she was doing after all by inviting him over.
A small smile lifts my cheeks. It would be just like Thomas to take my bad day and turn it into something wonderful. After my disastrous introduction to Mr. Barnes, it would be far better for me to approach the Hollywood director with a lead role tucked up my sleeve. If he is in town long enough, I could invite him to the play and let him see my talent for himself.
The knock at the door startles me, and I spread the blanket over my legs while stowing the hairbrush beneath the pillow behind my back.
“I’ll get it,” Clara announces, graciously keeping Papa from being the first to greet Thomas.
“Hi,” she says at the door. “Come on in. She’s in the living room.”
Thomas enters the living room, holding his wool cap in front of him. His eyes meet mine, and all my worries about seeing him tonight disappear like melting snow.
Papa stands from his chair and extends a hand toward Thomas. “Good to meet you, Thomas. Louisa has told us lots about you. Please have a seat.”
Papa gestures to the only other chair in the room, and Thomas takes it, eyeing me with concern. “How are you feeling?”
A gush of flutters rises in my chest at his genuine concern for me. “I’ll be fine. I suspect my ego might be more bruised than my ankle.” I do my best to downplay the discomfort I am feeling.
Clara sets a pot of tea on the coffee table and serves each of us a cup before settling herself at the far end of the sofa, careful not to bump my ankle as she sits.
Realizing we aren’t about to be afforded any privacy from my family, I push forward. “Clara mentioned you had something important to tell me.”
“Yes, I do.” Thomas hesitates, buying time with a sip of tea. “I have been asked to travel to California to work with a new production company.”
I feel my smile drop as quickly as my heart. “California?” All I can think is that I was supposed to be the one going to Hollywood to become a film star. Though silent, the admission is no less selfish than it would be if spoken out loud.
Silence fills the room as I wade through my thoughts for an appropriate response. Perhaps, in time, Thomas’ connections in California will be an asset for my future, but right now, in this moment, all I feel is sorry for myself.
Clara senses my disappointment and does her best to save me from myself. “What exciting news, Thomas. What kind of work will it be?”
Thomas’ eyes appear imploring, but my mind is spinning so fast I can’t determine what he is trying to say. “It is a temporary position. I don’t expect to be gone much longer than a month or two, but it means that I will gain experience in the production of film. There are advantages with this type of advancement, given the anticipated expansion into talking movies.”
“Oh, I see.” Forcing a pleased smile in place, I tilt my head and ask the question I’m dreading. “How soon do you have to leave?”
Thomas examines his hands, and I know the answer before a single word falls from his lips. “I’m booked on tomorrow’s train to Seattle.”