The Dollhouse(71)

Darby had several choices. She could scurry out of the bathroom, apologizing profusely. She could move down one sink and continue brushing her teeth.

But she’d be out of the hotel in less than a week, and Candy no longer had any power over her. In fact, she never had.

Candy stamped one foot. “You deaf? I need my sink. I have a go-see in two hours.”

With a slow deliberateness, Darby turned off the faucet and tapped her toothbrush a couple of times to dry. She leaned over the sink and opened her mouth, letting the mixture of toothpaste and saliva drip out of her mouth into the basin in a thick, wet mess.

She turned around, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and gave Candy a smile.

“All yours.”

Candy’s screeches followed her down the hall.

Stella poked her head out of her room. “What’s going on? Another cockroach in the shower?”

“Candy’s having a bad day, I guess.”

Stella laughed. “What else is new. Hey, where have you been? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

“I got kicked out of Katie Gibbs.”

Stella’s hand flew to her chest. “What? When?”

“Yesterday.”

Stella held out her arms and pulled Darby into them. “My dear girl. You don’t deserve that. What can I do?”

An unexpected lump formed in her throat at her friend’s kindness. Stella had tried to look out for her, from the very beginning. Darby couldn’t get any words out to answer.

“Come with me.” Stella led her up the stairwell and opened the door to the sky terrace. Back when the Indian summer was in full swing, girls in ruched one-piece bathing suits would gather on warm afternoons, but this morning all was quiet. Darby plopped down on the nearest chaise longue and looked out into the distance, where the Chrysler Building stretched into the sky, bright and gleaming. Being up so high above the city made her troubles seem less dramatic.

Darby filled Stella in the best she could, ending with a reenactment of Candy’s horror when she’d dribbled in her sink. “That was fun, I have to admit.”

“You’re not the same girl you were before.”

Darby shrugged. “I don’t know about that.”

“No. You’re a grown-up now.”

“Wait’ll my mother finds out. I’ll regress to an infant.”

“Why?”

“No refund. She put her heart and soul into me improving my lot in life as a Gibbs girl, and I couldn’t even last two months.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Well, Esme wants me to work in the club and for the two of us to try singing together, like an act.”

Stella squinted, whether from the idea or the bright sun, Darby wasn’t sure. She shouldn’t have brought up Esme’s name.

Darby pulled her robe tight around her. “I wish my father were alive.”

“Were you close?”

“We got on like crazy. My mother doesn’t understand me at all, not that she tried very hard. We don’t have much in common.” The sun shone on Stella’s hair, highlighting the gold strands among the auburn. “She would have loved to have you as a daughter. You’re pretty and stylish, like her.”

Stella fiddled with the rhinestone bracelet on her wrist. “Pretty only goes so far.”

“All I know is I’m headed for deep trouble. My mother hates failure. She got so mad at my father when he got fired. Even when he was dying, she couldn’t bear to be in the same room with him.”

“She does sound like a pill. Why did he get fired?”

“Something happened at work. His boss said he was too nice.”

“Too nice?”

“He was innocent, in a way. Trusted everyone, I guess.”

“Your mother seems to have very high standards.”

“You got that right.” Darby sat upright and swung her legs to the side. She was done feeling maudlin. She had to come up with a plan, decide her fate. Whether it was defying her mother or managing Esme, there was no more time to wallow in self-pity. “I have to figure this out.”

Stella reached over and patted her knee. “Don’t think too far ahead. That’s my go-to remedy in a time of crisis. Do something this morning that will make you happy.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Pop down to the diner with me and have an egg sandwich? Buy a new lipstick?”

Something that made her happy. Darby smiled.

“Thanks. But I think I know what will do the trick.”




Sam took Darby’s hand as they entered Washington Square Park. She’d found him in the kitchen of the Flatted Fifth, grinding spices in a mortar, and hadn’t had to say a word. He saw the look on her face, took off his apron, and together they walked west while she told him the story of her meeting with Mrs. Tibbett, stopping only to buy two coffees at a corner deli.

She took a sip to conceal her delight at the nonchalant way he’d taken her hand. As if they had been together for a while and did this kind of thing every day. Like she was his girl.

“How did you feel after you found out?” he asked. He’d taken the news easily, thoughtfully, without any of the awkward gestures of Maureen or the sweet pity of Stella.

“Panic. Then relief. I was happy not to live through another eight months of secretarial accounting and pretending to answer the phone.”