Beautiful Little Fools(24)

Mother bit her lip, clearly dying to be her snow goose self, but not wanting to step on Mrs. Buchanan’s toes either.

“My French is rusty,” I said, excusing the things the seamstress had said about my body with a wave of my hand.

“Well,” Mrs. Buchanan said sharply. “Mine is not, and she cannot speak to you that way. Go.” She put her hand on my shoulder and pushed me gently back inside the atelier. It felt like a test, and certainly, I was about to fail.

I glanced at Mother, who stood red-faced with her arms crossed in front of her chest, and I imagined what she would say, if she got up the nerve to talk: Daisy Fay, mind your manners. You’re a lady! But she said nothing at all and Mrs. Buchanan frowned. What choice did I have but to walk back inside?

“You have forgotten something?” the seamstress said to me, in jagged English.

I took a deep breath and stared directly at her. “I do not have the body of a duck. I would like an apology.”

Her face flamed, and she stammered out a quick apology, half English/half French. And I’d felt something then, rising up inside of me. Money would give me a couture dress, and diamonds, and Tom. But it would give me this, this red-hot power, too.

I put my hand up to touch my necklace now. My neck had adjusted to its weight and the pearls no longer felt stifling. Instead, when I turned my head, even just the slightest, I could feel them there, formidable and stunning against my collarbone. What kind of a woman could wear three hundred and fifty thousand dollars around her neck like it was nothing? Mrs. Tom Buchanan.

I folded Jay’s letter back up, put it in the envelope, and ripped it in half. Then I tore it again, and again, until it was no longer words with any meaning at all, but shreds of paper on my bedroom floor that Fredda would come in and sweep up later.

Jay was right. I’d felt something once. We’d felt something together. But I clutched the pink pearls in my fingers, now. Whatever I had felt then, two years ago, was nothing compared to what I had now. And being married to Tom, I’d never have to worry about Mother’s or my comfort again.

I took one last glance in the mirror, straightening the diamond hairpins just a bit. And then I turned and walked downstairs. Mother and Jordan stood in the parlor, waiting for me, and Jordan sighed with what appeared to be relief when she saw me.

Mother stared at me, held her hands to her mouth. “Oh, Daisy Fay,” she trilled when she found her voice. “I’ve never seen such a beautiful sight in my whole entire life. Your daddy would be so proud of you.”

“Are you ready, Daise?” Jordan asked.

“Yes,” I said, and I meant it. I really did. More than I’d ever meant anything in my life. “I’m ready to go become the happiest wife in the whole entire world.”





Jordan June 1919

LOUISVILLE




IT WAS SO HOT AT Daisy’s wedding that a man out and fainted in the middle of the church, just after the ceremony ended. I saw the look on Daisy’s face—that abject horror as she watched him go down—and then I could see all the worry turning around in her head that this one moment would define her entire wedding, ruin everything.

As the maid of honor, it was my duty to assist the bride in every way. And since Daisy and I had been best friends for so very long, I took this duty quite seriously.

“Don’t worry,” I whispered in her ear. “I’ll take care of this.” I dashed from my spot at the altar to the middle of the aisle where the man had gone down. “Move back, y’all,” I shouted, waving my arms. “Give him some air.”

The crowd stepped back, seeming collectively relieved that someone else had taken charge. The string quartet began to play as if to distract everyone, and it appeared to work. I moved my fan in front of the man’s face; he was younger than I’d thought from farther back, maybe even just a little bit older than me, and that filled me with relief. No one would be dying at Daisy’s wedding. Not on my watch. And indeed, after only a minute of fanning, he opened his eyes, blinked, and murmured something incoherent.

By that time, Mrs. Fay had made it over to us with a glass of water. “Here.” I held the water out to him. “See if you can sit up and drink some of this.”

He sat up, took a few sips, and wiped at his brow with the back of his hand. Then he gazed at me and smiled. “Are you an angel? Have I died and gone to heaven?”

Oh, for goodness’ sake. He couldn’t be serious.

“You’re perfectly alive,” I retorted. “But you’re blocking the aisle and Daisy will lose her mind if people can’t leave the church to get over to the Seelbach for the reception.”

He chuckled a little, as if he knew Daisy (though I wasn’t sure how—I’d never seen this man before in my life), and he might relish the thought of seeing her lose her mind.

I held out my hand. “Come on, see if you can stand. My house is only two doors down from here. You can cool yourself off there before the party. I’m Jordan Baker, by the way.”

He grabbed my hand, and then he was on his feet again. “Blockwood Biloxi.” He wobbled a little and I put out a hand to steady him.

“Blockwood?” I tried not to laugh at his ridiculous name because the poor man was already having quite the embarrassing afternoon.

He shrugged. He was probably used to it. “It’s an old family name. But you can call me Blocks. Everyone does.”