The Dollhouse

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

New York City, 1952

My darling!”

Darby’s mother stood in the middle of the lobby, arms outstretched. Less than two days had passed since Darby had been expelled, and the last person she expected to come calling for her was Mother. When the concierge rang her room to say she had a visitor, she’d hoped that it was Sam. Instead, when the elevator doors opened, she was greeted by Mother.

Mother obviously hadn’t heard.

Darby stifled the impulse to run into her arms and bury her head in Mother’s perfumed embrace as if she were a four-year-old child. The sound of girlish laughter drifted down from the mezzanine, and she didn’t want to embarrass herself in front of any other guests.

She accepted a long hug instead.

“I missed you, Darby dear.” Mother held her at arm’s length and studied her carefully. “The school sent a notice last week saying you were having difficulty and I jumped on a train and here I am.”

Darby added the cost of the train to her ongoing tally of repayments. “You didn’t need to come.”

“I’m glad I did. You don’t look very well. Have you been eating? Never mind; let’s pop into the café right here and I’ll get some food in you.”

They walked through the inside entrance to the café with linked arms. The gesture was strange and artificial, as if Mother was acting out some scene in a madcap movie. Darby slipped inside a booth near the back and fiddled with her silverware until Mother shot her one of her signature looks.

“Sorry.”

“Now tell me everything.”

Darby evaded the command. “How is Mr. Saunders? And the dogs?”

“All are well.”

Mother called the waiter over and ordered Jell-O salads for both of them. Daddy used to say his wife could have been a Hollywood star, with her arched, plucked eyebrows, high cheekbones, and tiny nose. She neatly placed the napkin on her lap and removed her gloves. Every gesture was careful and precise, as if she were a doctor in an operating room.

“Now, Darby. What’s going on with you?”

“Well, I’ve been struggling, to tell you the truth. With the classes, the teachers.” Why mince words? Better to be quick, like pulling off a Band-Aid. “And now I’ve been expelled from Katharine Gibbs.”

Mother’s eyes closed briefly. An unnerving stillness settled over her. “Why?”

“I never fit in there. And for a while I thought I was doing all right. But the classes were awful and boring and I don’t want to do that with my life.”

“You’ve only been there two months. I spent all that money and you couldn’t even be bothered to try?” The pitch of her voice rose, never a good sign. “Because you found it boring? The program takes less than a year, for God’s sake. We’ll go to the school right after lunch and I’ll explain that you must stay on.”

“They made it clear I can’t go back. The letter of expulsion was mailed to you two days ago.”

Mother slammed her hand down on the table, making the silverware jump. “You’ve wasted your father’s insurance money. It’s gone. There is no refund. Do you remember, when we talked about you coming here, that there was no refund?”

The waiter came with their food, two plates of wobbly green Jell-O mold in which slices of olives, celery, and cheese floated, garnished with lettuce and tomato.

“I’m sorry about the money. I’ll pay you back, I promise.”

“And how exactly will you do that?”

“I made a friend, a wonderful friend, named Esme. She works at a jazz club and we sang together and people really raved. Yesterday I went to the club and spoke with the owner, and he said I could start work there as a waitress tomorrow.”

She didn’t mention how her legs had gone liquid from fear when she and Sam had stepped into Mr. Buckley’s office at the club after their talk in Washington Square Park. To her relief, he hadn’t asked her if she had any experience, just told her to show up for her first shift on Saturday at five and then demanded they both get the hell out and stop bothering him.

Mother stared at her as if she were speaking a foreign language. “A waitress? In a jazz club?”

“It’s what I came here for, right? To broaden my horizons.”

“And this Esme, is she a student at the Gibbs school as well?” The syllables of Esme’s name dripped off Mother’s tongue as if they tasted foul.

“No.”

“And where did you meet her?”

“She works at the Barbizon. As a maid.”

Mother pushed her plate away and sat back, arms crossed. “Oh, Darby.”

“You’d like her, I’m sure, if you gave her a chance. She’s a lovely girl, Mother. Smart and very talented. She’s going to be a famous actress and singer someday.” The words sounded crazy to Darby’s own ears as she spoke them aloud. She took a deep calming breath and began again. “And I have another friend, too, who’s offered to help me. Charlotte is traveling right now, but she said she’d get me an interview with a publishing company when she returns. No matter what, I’ll be okay. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that you sent me here to live. At first I was so nervous, but now I love it. I don’t want to go back.”

“You cannot stay here unchaperoned. And I can no longer afford the Barbizon hotel, obviously.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin, careful not to smudge her lipstick.

“Esme and I are going to get an apartment together.”

“You do realize that you sound like a madwoman, don’t you? Do you think you’re that special? Do you realize how many girls come to New York hoping to make it big, then fall on hard times and are ruined?”

Darby flinched. “I assure you I won’t be ruined. This isn’t Defiance, and I’m not an innocent girl anymore.”

“What on earth does that mean?”

“Nothing, not that.” Well, not exactly that. “The idea of going to Katharine Gibbs was your dream, not mine. I’m not suited to it.”

“So you’ll work as a waitress instead? Very nice. Your father would be thrilled.” Mother pressed one delicate hand to each temple and heaved a dramatic sigh.

“What about publishing?” Darby offered. “That’s a respectable career for a girl like me.”

“Oh, please. You don’t have what it takes.”

Maybe Mother was right. Darby had never held a real job. What did she know about supporting herself?

Mother’s eyes grew watery and she searched in her purse for a handkerchief. “When your father died, I thought we might end up begging for help. He left me nothing but his insurance policy, with the instructions that it all go to you.” As she dabbed at her tears, her mascara smudged in the half-moons underneath her eyes. Darby took the handkerchief out of her hand and gently wiped the makeup away, knowing Mother would be horrified to be seen in public looking messy. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. I really am. I’ve disappointed you.”

“I suppose I’m partially responsible. I’ve kept you safe, maybe too much so. But you aren’t equipped to go it on your own, not yet. That’s why I did everything I could to make this work for you. Tuition, new clothes, a train ticket, a room at the best women’s residence in town. A girl like you needs protection from the real world.”

“I know you meant well, and I tried to do the right thing, I swear. But in the end, the life you wanted for me seemed more stifling than safe.”

“You have no idea what stifling feels like.” Mother’s words were acid. “And now every penny gone. What a waste. I never imagined you’d associate with the staff. A maid, for God’s sake.”

“I will pay you back.”

“All I wanted was for you to be independent. To be your own woman. But not like this. Mr. Saunders will be very unhappy, I assure you.”

“But don’t you see, we want the same thing. I also want to be able to be independent, to take care of myself. Being a secretary isn’t the only way to go about that. Upstairs, there are hundreds of girls, approaching the world in different ways. Your way isn’t the only one.”

“I don’t care what the other girls are doing. I won’t have my daughter working as a cocktail waitress.”

Neither of them had touched the food. Mother called for the waiter and left several crisp bills on the table, her hands shaking. “Now we will go upstairs and you will pack, and we’ll catch the next train home. You are done with New York City.”

“What on earth is this?”

Darby’s mother pulled out the satin dress Esme had given Darby from the small closet in her room.

“Something I picked up in the store.” Darby stifled the impulse to grab it out of her hands, to protect it.

Mother pinched the fabric between her finger and thumb. “Cheap. And shiny. Did you ever wear this out?”

“Just once.”

“Well, we’ll leave that one behind.” She tossed it on the floor. “Help me, please. Pick up the suitcase and open it up on the bed.”

Darby’s heart pounded in her chest, but she did as she was told. Her life had been about following orders, whether they were from Mother or Mr. Saunders. She’d done well in school, obeyed the rules, never asked uncomfortable questions.

“Daddy would have listened to me.” She spoke the words quietly, almost under her breath.

Mother’s back stiffened, but she didn’t stop her methodical sorting. “Don’t you dare bring up your father. Not now.”

Darby’s voice grew stronger. “If he’d lived, he would’ve at least considered my side of the argument.”

“You have no idea what your father would have done under the circumstances. He was not the man you think he was.”

“All I know is he was sweet to me, he tried to be sweet to you, and you constantly put him down or yelled at him. Even on his deathbed you couldn’t be bothered to comfort him. Nothing he could have done deserved that treatment.”

Her mother turned to her, her fingers twitching. Darby knew that movement. She’d seen it in Mr. Saunders before he’d pounded his fist on the table or slapped her mother across the face.

“You think you know what goes on in a marriage? You are a child, a little girl with a big mouth. If Mr. Saunders were here, he’d put you right in your place.”

The threat of violence was the final straw. She would no longer back down to the likes of Candy, Mr. Saunders, or even her own mother. “You’ve insinuated horrible things about Daddy since he died. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what happened.”

“You already know. He got fired. And that meant that when he died, the only thing we had was the insurance money. No pension, no savings. Nothing. Which I misguidedly spent on your education. Which you then wasted.”

Darby couldn’t help herself. She was picking at a dangerous scab, one she’d always left alone before now. “Why did you have a private funeral?”

“It was what he wanted.”

“Or was it so that you and Mr. Saunders could get married right away, without too much talk?” Her body shook as if she were freezing cold. She had never spoken to Mother like this in her life.

Mother stood motionless. “How dare you?”

“You wanted to bury Daddy quickly and with the least amount of fuss so you could move on to Mr. Saunders. You seemed relieved. Happy. How could you?”

To her astonishment, Mother nodded. “I was relieved. I was happy. I never wanted to see your father suffer, but he brought it on himself. Mr. Saunders said it was God’s will. If you must know, your father’s funeral was private because there was not a soul who would have attended a public memorial for him.” She placed her hands on her hips. “He was a degenerate, and word spreads quickly in a small town.”

Darby’s voice caught in her throat. “What are you talking about?”

“Even the doctor in town wanted nothing to do with him.” A tiny bit of spittle stayed on Mother’s lip. “I married Mr. Saunders quickly in order to restore our family’s good name. I sent you to New York in order to spare you the shame of having people whisper behind your back, saying terrible things. Mr. Saunders protected me, protected us.”

“But what were they saying?”

Mother ignored the question. “I thought you’d start a new life here at the Gibbs school, that you’d be able to move beyond the hideousness of your father’s behavior. And what did you do? You’ve disgraced yourself, and me, even further. It’s a good thing I came to fetch you. I see now that you were on the verge of ending up in the gutter. Just like him.”

“But you still haven’t even said what he did. What did Daddy do that was so awful no one could ever forgive it?”

Mother took a deep breath, as if she were about to dive underwater. “He was found in a compromising position with another man in a hotel in Cleveland.”

Darby’s mind raced. The man who held her hand and encouraged her to be herself. All those trips away. Daddy was a degenerate. A hateful word. That explained Mr. Saunders’s smugness, the way the girls in high school had been so distant. Everyone knew about Daddy but her.

He liked to be with men. He liked to kiss other men. She didn’t want to imagine the things her father had done; she should never have pushed her mother so far. The shame of his behavior flooded over her.

Victory gleamed in her mother’s eyes. Darby looked down at the floor.

What about Esme’s kiss in the recording booth? Did that mean Darby was a degenerate as well?

The kiss with Esme had been soft and full of shared desires, but not in any way sordid. If her father had kissed men like that, was that so bad? He was still her father, the man who built an unsailable boat so he and his daughter could have an excuse to escape the emotional frigidity of the house.

He had loved her, and she had loved him. And life was full of strange and unexpected complications.

With that, all doubt faded away. He would have wanted her to stay in New York, free from the small-mindedness of Defiance.

“I’m not going back.”

“You’re going to stay here with your little friend? You’ll be cast out, like your father, I can tell you that.”

“I know you spent a great deal of money on me and I promise I’ll pay you back, every cent.”

“You’ll spread your legs, is that what you’re thinking?”

The shock of the phrase coming out of Mother’s lips stunned her for a moment. “No. I told you, I have a job as a waitress. I have other options. It’s not the nineteenth century anymore.”

The muscles in Mother’s jaw tightened. “You were always a strange one. Even when you were a little girl. You rarely cooed or giggled in your crib. Instead, you’d stare at me, like you hated me. I’m your mother, so I had to take care of you. But look what’s become of you. You’re like your father in so many ways.

“If you stay here, you won’t get any more support from me.” She pointed a red-nailed finger in Darby’s direction. “I don’t want to hear from you, and I don’t want to see you. When you have been misused and mistreated, do not show up on our doorstep to ask for help. I have struggled since your father died to make a new name for myself, and I will not have you shred that again.”

“You needn’t worry. I won’t return.”

Mother picked up her purse and turned on her heel. She stared at Darby once, a cold, bitter look that seared her like a branding iron. Then she was gone.

Stiff and sore, as if she’d been beaten, Darby leaned over and picked up the satin dress that Esme had given her, hanging it back in the closet.

She had to find Esme. More than anything, she needed to hear Esme laugh and tell her everything would be all right. That she could survive in New York without the protection of her family and the Barbizon Hotel for Women.

In this new version of her life, Darby would work hard—whether it was writing, waiting tables, or even singing. And late in the evenings, when she and Esme were done for the day, they’d double-date with their beaux, and Sam would smell like spices and fresh bread.

She’d prove Mother wrong.