Chapter 6 #2
With a word of instruction to her driver, Mother accepted the doorman’s hand and exited the auto.
Oh, the regal way she moved. She made the simple act of rising from the Studebaker and strolling toward the doors look like she was royalty.
“Didn’t you know? Your mother is a queen,” her father had teased when she was little. “And that makes you a princess.”
It had been a long time since she’d believed that, but Mother still moved with elegance and grace, like she knew people were watching her and wanted to make it worth their while.
People were watching both of them now. Two young ladies in short dresses and long strands of pearls exited the brass revolving doors, a man carrying hatboxes behind them.
Their admiring gazes swept over Mother’s perfect coiffure and poise, then became open stares at the contrast in limping, bespectacled Elsa.
A spark of recognition flared. Had these women been her classmates at boarding school?
Or was it only the disdain in their expressions that felt familiar?
Her fingers wrapping around the remaining Tootsie Roll in her pocket, Elsa wondered how good her aim was.
So much for Madame Trudeau’s deportment classes.
Straightening, she marched into the store as though she belonged with the beautiful, perfect people who shopped here. As though she belonged beside her mother.
———
Bergdorf Goodman didn’t have a shoe department.
They had a shoe salon, furnished with plush sofas and chairs, potted trees, Turkish rugs, high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers, and mirrors that doubled the space.
Elsa and her mother sat on the edge of a purple loveseat, their posture as erect as though they still stood.
A saleswoman sashayed their way, introduced herself as Bette, and inquired how she could meet their needs.
“I’d like a good pair of walking shoes, please,” Elsa told her. “Size seven. Nothing fancy, just something practical. Comfortable.”
“But high quality in materials and workmanship,” Mother specified. “A little style doesn’t hurt, either.”
“But of course.” Bette smiled. “We have only the highest standards here. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll return with some selections in a few moments.”
Mother nodded, dismissing her, then rose to wander about the salon while Elsa remained seated.
Single shoes were displayed on what looked like multitiered crystal cake stands.
She picked one of them up, a small smile curving her lips.
It was a high-heeled, white satin slipper with a delicate ankle strap and gold buckle.
“Maybe they have your size,” Elsa said.
“Oh no.” Mother’s laugh was the flutter of butterfly wings, delicate and fleeting. “I don’t want this for myself. This is like the pair we bought Lauren for her coming-out ball, that’s all.”
Elsa’s mouth went dry. “I didn’t know she’d had one.”
Mother returned the shoe to its place. “It was never a secret, darling, but you were not in any shape to be bothered with anything that didn’t directly relate to your health at the time.”
That’s right. When Lauren was seventeen, she’d already been living with them full-time for two years. With Uncle Lawrence away, Lauren was like a daughter to Elsa’s parents.
“So you threw her a ball when she turned seventeen. While I was confined to my bed with polio.”
“Shh, come now.” Mother returned to the loveseat and sat.
“You make it sound as though we went behind your back to do it. We had been planning it for a year, and staying home for the evening would not have made you any better. Besides, we couldn’t very well reschedule your cousin’s seventeenth birthday. ”
Elsa heard a smile in her mother’s voice but didn’t look at her. Instead, she gripped her hands in her lap and fixed her gaze on that white shoe on its crystal stand, the likes of which Elsa never had and never would wear.
“Hotel Astor?” she asked.
“Naturally. It was no more lavish a party than what we would have thrown for you, too, if . . .” Her words trailed away, and yet their meaning burrowed into Elsa.
If things had been different. If you had recovered enough for a ball of your own.
“You must understand, Lauren is my only sister’s only child.
Of course I would do for her whatever I thought she deserved.
When we began planning her ball, you were eight years old and still healthy, and I assumed we’d do the same for you.
By the time the ball took place the next year, you had been sick with that awful disease for six months.
You were two months shy of your tenth birthday, and I couldn’t predict your future.
I wondered if the ball for your cousin would be the only ball I’d ever get to throw. I didn’t want to miss it.”
A hard knot formed in Elsa’s throat. “And you were right. It was the only ball.” She could say more.
She could say she hoped Lauren’s ball made Mother happy in a way Elsa never could.
She could say it was ironic that Mother didn’t want to miss Lauren’s ball and yet had no problem missing months at a time from Elsa’s life.
She said nothing.
Mother fiddled with the clasp on her handbag. “You were still in the hospital at that point, and you weren’t allowed visitors except on Sunday afternoons. You never even missed us, darling. You had no idea we’d had a ball at all.”
A wave of heat washed through Elsa, pressure building behind her skull.
“Speaking of Lauren,” Mother went on, “I’ve offered to help plan her wedding while she’s away.
She and Joe won’t want to wait long after she comes back from Egypt, and you know how early venues in Manhattan are booked.
Now is the time to make reservations, and not only for the venue but catering, florist, musicians, all of it. ”
“That sounds exhausting. Are you sure Lauren and Joe want all that?”
Mother blinked at her. “Even a simple affair requires planning and organization, and Joe has his investigations to conduct for the police. Lauren is grateful for my help, and I’m only too glad to give it.”
Elsa had no doubt about that. Lauren had likely been too busy preparing for Egypt to bother with wedding planning during the months before she left.
And Mother—well, if she’d enjoyed planning a coming-out ball, she would love planning a wedding even more, especially since she might not get to plan one for her own daughter, despite her matchmaking attempts.
What would Mother do without Lauren?
Elsa pressed a hand to the throbbing behind her brow. “If you plan hers, will you leave off hoping you can plan mine one day? Could we stop with the matchmaking dinners?”
Mother cut her a sharp gaze and, in an uncharacteristic show of sentiment, placed a hand on Elsa’s knee.
“This has nothing to do with you, Elsa. Lauren is not now, has never been, and will never be a substitute for you. Lauren is my niece. It’s only right that I fill in for what my sister would have done, if she still lived.
But you are my only daughter. Do you hear me? ”
Elsa heard her. But the words didn’t relieve the bruises inside her.
Mother removed her hand, clasping it once more in her lap. “I planned to ask if you’d like to join me in checking out the options for Lauren and Joe. I have good taste, but that isn’t enough. I’ll need someone to help me keep track of all the details. You do enjoy details, don’t you?”
A wry smile tipped Elsa’s lips. “Depends on the details.”
Before they could discuss it further, Bette returned with four boxes of shoes.
“Let’s see them all before we start trying on,” Mother said.
Kneeling on the carpet, Bette lifted all the lids.
“Take that one away. She’s twenty-six, not sixty-two.”
“Of course.”
“Mother.” Elsa modulated her tone to push the irritation out of it. “I like that pair the best. The cap-toe Oxfords have the lowest heel, and the heels are made of rubber. That’s what I’m looking for. Let’s try it on, please.”
Bette looked from mother to daughter and back again before Elsa added, “In case we’ve confused you, I am the customer, not her. I’m paying for the shoes, either here or elsewhere.”
With a nod, Bette unclasped the straps on Elsa’s shoes, and Elsa slid her feet into the new candidates. After Bette laced them up, she pinched at the toes, checking for fit, then rose. “Take a stroll and see how they feel.”
Elsa stood. In the corner of her vision, another young woman practically waltzed through the salon, testing a gold pair of high-heeled evening slippers. Mother shifted, clutching her handbag with tighter-than-necessary force. She crossed her ankles, then uncrossed them again.
Mother was nervous.
Elsa hated that it was because of her. This was a mistake, but there was nothing to do about it now except get through it.
Lifting her chin, Elsa walked away from Bette and Mother, forcing herself to focus on how the shoes fit, rather than the embarrassment she caused her mother.
“Do you need a lift in one shoe?” Bette asked her when she returned to her seat. “If you have one in the pair you’ve been wearing, could you switch it out to try it with this pair?”
Elsa smiled. “I appreciate that, but no. My legs are the same length, but one is not as cooperative as the other.” Her left knee didn’t bend as freely with the brace on it. But that was the point. She needed the support to help bear her weight. “The Oxfords fit fine. I’ll take them.”
“Wouldn’t you like to try anything else?” Mother asked.
Elsa assumed she referred to the three other boxes Bette had brought, but Mother’s gaze had traveled back to the satin white slipper, sparkling on its pedestal. It wasn’t just a symbol of that shining ball of years gone by but of a standard that Elsa couldn’t reach.
“That’s all right, Mother,” Elsa said. “Some shoes will never fit.”