A-Splendid-Ruin(12)
“Goldie, do you really think . . . That’s very low.”
Goldie said, “Do you want to be like Mabel Byrnes?”
“Who’s Mabel Byrnes?”
“The most old-fashioned girl in San Francisco. She’s hardly older than you and you’d think she was on the shelf already, the way she dresses. Like a dowdy matron. She’ll never attract a husband that way.”
As far as husband hunting went, I had not thought of that for some time. There had been too many other things in the way—chiefly, no money and my mother’s disdain for the tenor of our neighborhood. Now, the future was a new thing altogether. Who knew what it would bring? “I don’t want to be old-fashioned.”
“Leave it to me,” Goldie assured me.
How I trusted her from the start. How wholly I gave myself over to my cousin. The lure of beautiful things, of a friend . . . I was vulnerable without knowing it, having never had either. Who wouldn’t want a dress with that blue-and-white lace trim? Goldie was right, the pink was not too bright. Nor was that ivory lace ball gown too revealing. There were shirtwaists and skirts and jackets to match, plaids and stripes that the most fashionable women wore together, and oh, a gown of silk that fell like water through my fingers, the way the light gleamed upon it . . . In the end, I would have let Goldie cut the décolletage to my knees just for the privilege of wearing it.
And then the City of Paris, where we bought lace-and ribbon-festooned combinations—at last I was to have proper, fashionable underwear—embroidered corset covers and nightgowns and sheer silk stockings, and handkerchiefs and scarves. Everything was to be sent to the house when the alterations were done. I was a little sick at the money we’d spent, though Goldie only shrugged off my protests.
She told our driver, Nick, to follow us. “I want to take May somewhere.”
He scowled, but nodded, and she took my arm and we started off on foot.
The afternoon was advanced, casting shadows, and the chill breeze from the water tunneled briskly through the city. A large building with a giant clock tower at the end of the street blocked the view of the harbor. “That’s the ferry building,” Goldie told me, “where you catch the boat to Oakland. Now, hurry.”
“Is that where we’re going? Oakland?”
“Why would we go there? It’s nowhere.” Goldie grabbed her hat at an especially strong gust and walked so quickly that even with my long legs I had trouble keeping up. The street grew crowded with suited men gathering and talking sociably. As quickly as stinking clouds of cigar smoke dissipated in the breeze, new ones took their place.
“Where did everyone come from?” I asked.
“Cocktail hour.” Again, Goldie’s hand went to her hat. “Be ready! We’re going ’round the Horn!”
She swept around the corner. I followed—and was whipped and buffeted by a breeze so strong it exposed my petticoat and tried to yank the hat from my head. I grabbed desperately at both.
Someone shouted, someone else whistled. Goldie waved at one of the groups of men leaning against a large cast-iron fountain and watching women battle their clothing. Obviously, it was the sole reason they loitered here in the triangle between streets.
“Hey, Goldie, is that the cousin we’ve heard so much about?” called a young man standing beneath a nearby awning.
I waited for Goldie to turn up her nose or offer a chilling set down at his familiarity, but she didn’t, and I began to understand that these ogling men were what she wanted to show me. She only laughed. “It is indeed! Don’t ask me why she insisted on coming down to see all you derelicts. I told her you weren’t worth our time.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “Why don’t you two come over here and I’ll make it worth it.”
“We’re far too busy, much to your disappointment, I’m sure!”
“Goldie!” I whispered.
“Come on, now. Don’t make me beg!” the man pleaded.
“Wouldn’t that be a pretty sight? My cousin says she’d like to see it. Down on your knees!”
I was stunned at such open flirting, and everyone watching.
Goldie said to me in a loud whisper, “Thank God you’re not tiresome. I’d been so afraid you would be like Mabel after all.”
“No. No, of course not.” This was not the behavior Mama had taught me, and in Brooklyn it would have brought nothing but trouble. But such was Goldie’s power that I ignored my own instincts; she convinced me that here in San Francisco, women could be daring without consequence. I had no other example to follow. My aunt was an invalid; I was far from everything I knew. I glanced over my shoulder, reassured at the sight of Nick following in the Sullivan carriage.
A man sucking on a cheroot called, “Hey, Goldie! I saw your pa at the Palace.”
Goldie veered sharply over to him. “What exactly do you mean by that, sir?”
He exhaled smoke in a noxious cloud, grinning when Goldie batted it away. “Just that he’s in the bar getting all cozy with Abe Ruef and Mrs. Dennehy. I guess those government contracts make a pretty penny, especially when everyone’s getting paid not to watch things too closely.”
“I’m sure I don’t know.” Goldie spun me away in the wake of his soft chuckle.
We were well down the street when I ventured, “What did he mean by that?”