Well Behaved Wives(6)

Another thing she had in common with Ruth—they’d both grown up without a mother.

So that was it. Another reason Shirley had thought Lillian best for the job of teaching Ruth etiquette.

Lillian should have been gratified by the acknowledgment from her mentor, but today she wasn’t. How odd that Shirley would exploit Lillian’s loss. Or Ruth’s.

Lillian tapped a cigarette from a jeweled case, placed it between her lips, flipped open and struck her lighter, puffed and dragged. “Lesson one is gracious greetings.” Ruth, Carrie, Irene, and Harriet, sitting next to one another on a sofa, gazed up at her. She exhaled a cloud of smoke and tapped the cigarette on a glass ashtray nearby, allowing the loosened ash to fall into it. Cigarette still in hand, Lillian lifted a notebook from the coffee table, opened it, and balanced it on her left arm as she turned pages with her right hand. “I want you to address one another as if you’ve just met.”

“We have just met,” Ruth said.

The mild sassiness tickled Lillian, as if a feather had trailed along her foot. Ruth was right. Fresh, perhaps, but correct. The outspokenness should have irked her. If Pam or Penny had backtalked, she would have used it as a teachable moment for undesirable behavior. But somehow this breath of fresh air felt good.

“Talk as if you’re mingling in a business setting or a cocktail party,” Lillian said. “Where are you from? What do your husbands do? Start with that.” There. Back on track.

Carrie, blonde, blue-eyed, and petite, with a Kelly-green silk scarf tied in a bow at her neck, looked to the others and raised her hand.

“You don’t need to raise your hand, but go ahead, you start,” Lillian said. “Tell the girls about your husband.”

“Eli is the new vice-principal at Overbrook High School.” Carrie’s eyes glowed. “He was chosen over a dozen applicants.”

Harriet fluttered her lashes. “My fiancé works for his father. They’re lawyers. Scotty will take over one day.”

“Stephen owns Pincus Appliance Palace,” Irene said. “With three locations.”

Lillian and the girls looked at Ruth.

“Oh. My turn; Asher is a CPA. He works for his father.” She turned to Harriet. “What kind of law does your fiancé practice?”

“The legal kind? I don’t know. Should I? Do you know what kind of accounting they do?”

“Tax accounting.”

“It’s not wrong to know specifics,” Lillian said. “But you don’t want to get caught up in business chatter yourself.”

Harriet smirked.

“You’ll want to know enough to keep your husbands up to speed,” Lillian added. Keeping Peter primed on his clients and acquaintances was her specialty. Her husband relied on her to provide details he’d use to woo and impress. She’d once considered his business coups her own, but after fifteen years of marriage, the excitement of Peter’s achievements had stopped feeling like hers.

That’s what made the etiquette lessons special; they belonged to Lillian. Not that Peter needed them. Even Lillian wished the lessons were more important—not that etiquette was insignificant, not at all. But sometimes, when she allowed herself to dream beyond her life—or even within her life—she recalled short periods of time when she’d pictured herself a teacher, librarian, nurse. Or a meter maid. The woolgathering had never lasted long enough to be anything more. Perhaps if her mother had been around . . .

“Won’t anyone want to know what we think?” Ruth asked. “About anything?”

Lillian focused on Ruth, snapping back to the living room. “Once you’re friendly with the wives? Sure. Hair. Clothes. Decorating. Children. There will be plenty to talk about.”

Ruth shook her head but said nothing. Lillian wanted to tell Ruth she’d adapt, that she’d ignore and eventually forget her recalcitrant self, flourish in happy housewifery and motherhood. But that might be a lie. Lillian might be a lot of things, but she wasn’t a liar.

Lillian stubbed out her cigarette. “Just to reiterate, the way I introduced you is appropriate for married women.” She looked right at Ruth. “Memorize the first names of the men in your husband’s circles, but always address them as Mr. in a business or social setting—and while you may not like it, you’ll use your husband’s name when introducing yourself.” Perhaps acknowledging Ruth’s dissent would ease the transition. “You can offer your first name, but it would be rude of anyone to use it unless it was a casual setting. Inviting someone to use your first name sends a message of frivolity in business. I promise you girls, it’s not easy.”

Ruth reached into her pocketbook and removed a small notepad and pencil and started scribbling away.

“You were already practicing this lesson by meeting me, and one another.” Lillian motioned around the room, pleased with her trickery. “Why do you think the way you greet your husband and his colleagues and their wives is important?”

Harriet’s hand shot up and she smiled. “Being polite shows you had a good upbringing.”

“That isn’t a factor here,” Lillian said. Harriet was a pretty girl, but there was more to learn. “What do you think, Ruth?”

“Do you want me to be honest?” Ruth asked.

“Not really,” Harriet said.