Juliana Read online

  “I know it’s terrible of me,” Mrs. Wilkins said, “and it makes Henry mad, but I’m glad he got polio and can’t be in this war.”

  “Mom,” Henry said.

  I read the pain and anger in his face. Well, well, even Henry has parent troubles. Oh, that’s an awful thing to gloat about.

  “Well, it’s true,” Mrs. Wilkins continued. “I hope it doesn’t sound too unpatriotic, but I hardly get any sleep worrying about those boys.”

  Mr. Wilkins squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “We all understand, Mother.”

  “At least,” Mrs. Wilkins went on, “I can rest in the peace of knowing that Henry is safe. He’s happy and about to begin a new life with his beautiful bride.”

  “Hear. Hear,” Mr. Wilkins said raising his glass of champagne that Henry had bought.

  “Henry,” Mr. Wilkins continued, pointing his glass at his son. “You take good care of your bride, and she will make you happy for the rest of your life like Mother has made me.” We raised our glasses.

  When Mom and Dad got ready to go to their hotel that night, Mom put her hands on my shoulders and said, “You’ll be a beautiful bride, Alice.”

  “No kidding, Mom?”

  “Your father and I are very proud of you. Henry’s a real catch.” She kissed me on the forehead.

  I figured I must’ve done something right. She rarely kissed me. “Come on, Artie. We don’t want to keep our son waiting.”

  Dad punched my arm as he passed by me. “Good job, kiddo.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  I woke up while it was still dark. I hadn’t slept much during the night. Besides Aggie snoring in the bed next to me—she’d die if she knew she did that—the image of me going down the aisle and making a forever commitment kept waking me up. Of course, I loved Henry. He was a special man—everyone said so—but forever? Sleeping on all those bobby pins that Aggie had put in my hair didn’t help any, either. She had visions of turning my stringy hair into the coquette, one of the latest styles with waves and curls twirling around the top of my head and down my neck.

  Aggie never talked about her “problem”; she just kept drinking and laughing too much. Mostly wine, but sometimes, I found her with a glass of Scotch. I didn’t say anything though. I figured a person in her situation had to drink too much to keep going. She wasn’t hurting anyone. And she was helping me.

  I turned over and looked at my alarm clock—5:10—and threw the sheet off. It was sticky hot in the room. I’d been awake for at least an hour. I heard the milkman clinking the bottles outside our door. I pulled on a cotton bathrobe and walked into the parlor. Only eight more hours and I’d be walking down the center aisle of that church. My dress was rayon with pearl buttons. Even though wedding dresses were exempt from the WPB’s clothing restrictions, no one thought it was right to have a dress that was too showy, so my gown was simple.

  Soon, I’d be Mrs. Henry Wilkins. Applying that title “Mrs.” to me seemed very queer, but at least that would be one thing I’d never again have to worry about. With the war on, there were lots of girls who were afraid they were gonna be old maids, so they got married fast by the Justice of the Peace when their beaux came home on leave. Others married soldiers they hardly knew. After today, I’d always have my “Mrs.” title, which meant at least one man had wanted me. A girl had to have that to get along, but it wasn’t the completely wonderful thing I planned on doing back when I was eight years old. I was sure of that now. Well, what do eight year olds know anyway?

  I went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of orange juice. I found the half bottle of champagne that was left over from the day before lying empty in the garbage pail. I brought my orange juice to the parlor window. I held the shade away a sliver, so I could watch the darkness growing fainter as the sun crawled up over the courtyard. Then I raised the curtain. I would miss that window. The new place in Queens had a little backyard, but no window with a tree to look at.

  Most girls had their mothers to help them. I was grateful Mom never said anything about that. Aggie was gonna take out the bobby pins and comb my hair before we left. Then she’d do my makeup and nails at the church.

  A few hours later, Aggie and I, in pastel-colored day dresses, lugged two heavy suitcases—one with my wedding gown and the other with Aggie’s blue matron of honor dress—onto the subway and then down the street to The Little Church Around the Corner.

  When we arrived, Mom and Dad were already standing on the sidewalk in front of the church. Dad ran to throw his arms around Aggie. Then me.

  “Where have you been, Alice?” Mom asked. “Your father and I have been here for an hour and a half waiting for you.”

  “I didn’t tell you to do that. The ceremony isn’t for two hours. Aggie was fixing my hair.”

  “Did you do that , Aggie?”

  “Yeah. Doesn’t she look pretty?”

  “Uh, well, I spose.”

  I thought this time my mother was right. My hair didn’t look much like a coquette; it looked more like someone had dumped a bowl of spaghetti on my head.

  “Artie, take the suitcase. We have to get her ready.”

  “We ? No, Mom. You don’t have to do anything. You’re a guest.”

  “I’m your mother.”

  “I know, but Aggie’s gonna help me. You and Dad can go to Schrafft’s for coffee. There’s one a few blocks from here on Thirty-Fourth. You’ll like Schrafft’s. It’s famous. And you’ll even be able to have as much sugar in your coffee as you want since there’s no rationing at restaurants. Won’t that be fun?”

  “I am the mother of the bride,” Mom said as if she’d just proclaimed herself Queen of England. “I must perform my duties.”

  “No, Mom. Henry and I planned a simple—”

  “Yeah, Mrs. Huffman,” Aggie jumped in to help. “I’m the matron of honor, so I think it’s me who’s sposed to—” Aggie suddenly burst into tears.

  “No. It’s me who’s supposed to. Artie get your daughter’s suitcase. ”

  Before Dad could make a move, Mom grabbed the suitcase away from me and hoisted it to the front of the church. She slammed it down in front of my father. “Take this.”

  “Aggie, help me,” I pleaded.

  “Saying matron of honor made me think of Dickie and what I did to him. Al, I’m so scared,” Aggie whispered, between sobs.

  “You can’t be scared now . I need you.”

  “Yes. Uh, Mrs. Huffman …” Aggie took her lace handkerchief from her purse and wiped her eyes. “I read this wedding etiquette book, and it definitely said it was the matron ….” Aggie was crying again. Harder this time.

  “Pish posh. This is my job. Alice! Come!”

  “Well, at least, let me do her—makeup.” Aggie struggled to get herself under control. She followed Mom and me into the church, all the while dabbing her eyes.

  “Isn’t it too soon for wedding tears?” Mom asked Dad.

  “You probably don’t know how they’re doing makeup these days, Mrs. Huffman, so I—”

  Mom made a quick about face, “Are you saying I’m old-fashioned?”

  “No.” Aggie was starting to shrivel.

  My father dragged the suitcase into a room at the back of the church. Henry was so lucky. All he had to do was put on a tuxedo and show up. I slumped into the room with Mom, feeling ten again. Mom closed the door with Aggie on the other side.

  “Sit,” she ordered. I did. “Now, what do you have in here?” She popped open the suitcase and took out Aggie’s makeup case. “Here put on this bathrobe.” She threw the robe at me.

  “Please, Mom, Aggie and I had this all planned and—”

  “Get out of that dress. We haven’t a moment to waste.”

  I slumped into the bathroom and took off my dress. I threw the robe over my slip and padded back out in bare feet. Mom had Aggie’s makeup case open.

  “What is all this?” She lifted bottles and other things from the case. “Shoe Polish? Burnt cork? Beet root juice?”


  “Girls nowadays have to improvise. Aggie knows how to make those things work. Please.”

  “Luckily I brought some of my own that I used before the war.”

  “That’s old.”

  “It’s still good.”

  She applied some goop to my eyelid.

  “Not too much. Girls don’t wear so much nowadays.”

  “Don’t be silly. Every girl can benefit from a little makeup. Hold still. You never took the time to apply it right. Always off reading your books and talking to that boy Danny. Too busy to look pretty.” She pressed rouge to my cheeks with her thumb. “And he sure didn’t encourage you in that direction. Well, I’m telling you if you’re gonna hold on to Henry you’re gonna have to make an effort. Keep your eyes closed for Pete’s sakes. You’re always bouncing around.”

  “Girls don’t wear much rouge these days.”

  “I know what I’m doing. I’ve been at this a lot longer than you. Are you prepared for the wedding night? He’s gonna expect certain things.”

  “Mom, I know about this. You don’t need to tell me.”

  “Make sure you do whatever he wants no matter how disgusting. That’s how you hold on to him. A boy like this, solid, with a good job and more gumption than your father ever had even if he is a cripple, won’t come your way again, so don’t lose him.” She sat down on a stool opposite me holding an open compact in one hand and a brush in the other. “Do you ever think of me?”

  “Yeah, Mom, I do.”

  “We seemed to get along better when you were little. Even your father had something to say back then. Everything seems so different now. Too quiet, too peaceful somehow.”

  “I don’t feel peaceful, Mom. Not ever.”

  “One day you’ll give me grandchildren. Won’t that be nice? Little children running through the house again. Just like your little brother might—”

  “We don’t know if that child would’ve been a brother or a sister.”

  “Oh, I always think of him as a little boy, don’t you? My own little boy. I miss the sound of little feet running through the house. The way it was before—before I got sick.” She sighed deeply. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose your children.”

  “Child, Mom.”

  “What?”

  “You lost a child. Not children. I’m still here.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “And that child was never born, wasn’t even formed into a baby yet.”

  She stood and brushed my face with loose powder and I sneezed. “You have such a pretty face,” she said.

  “I do?”

  “But to look at you you’d never know it.” She was about to apply my lipstick when there was a knock at the door.

  “I better get that.” I tried to get up.

  “You stay put and let that set.” She quickly fanned my face with her hand, “It might be Henry, and the groom cannot see the bride before the wedding.” She hurried toward the door. “Bad luck. And we don’t want any of that around this one. What a catch.”

  She opened the door halfway. On the other side stood Juliana.

  “Juliana!” I jumped up.

  “I’m sorry she can’t see you right now, she’s—”

  “Yes, I can. Come in.” I tried to open the door all the way, but Mom was pushing in the opposite direction. “Mom, I want her to come in. ”

  “You have to finish dressing. This is your wedding day.”

  “Mom, I want Juliana to come in. Step away from the door.” I spoke so firmly that I surprised myself.

  “Very well,” Mom said, opening the door. “It appears my daughter would prefer to have you here rather than me.” She turned to me. “Good luck getting ready, buster smarty pants.” She marched out.

  “I didn’t mean to chase your mother out,” Juliana said.

  “No, I’m glad.”

  “What happened to your face?”

  “My mother.” I ran to the mirror. “Oh, no, look at me. I can’t go out there like this.”

  Juliana swallowed a laugh. “Do you want me to fix it for you?”

  “Would you?”

  “Let me go out and tell my escort I’ll be a while.”

  “I didn’t mean to interfere with you and …. It’s not your husband, is it?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  “Why good?”

  “I didn’t mean anything about your husband. I’m sure he’s a nice man.”

  “My escort is my accompanist. Johnny Dunlevy. We’re great friends. He’s home on a weekend pass. I’ll be right back.”

  I went into the bathroom to scrub the goop off my face. By the time I finished my face was red raw. Juliana floated back into the room. She wore her hair up in a French twist. I’d never seen her wear it that way before. Her sleeveless, peach chiffon dress floated around her knees as she moved toward me. “Now, let’s see what we can do to get you ready to get married.”

  Juliana bent over Aggie’s strange improvisational makeup. “We girls certainly have had to do our share of sacrificing for the war effort.” The smell of her perfume put me into a pleasant haze. “I just happen to have a few things in my purse. Why don’t we do your nails first? Give your face a rest.”

  “You have real nail polish? I haven’t seen a bottle of nail polish in months. I always use beet root juice for work.”

  She squatted down, her skirt fanning out over her peach and white heels. She took my hand in hers and stroked red color down one nail. “You have very fine hands. Delicately shaped.”

  “Me? Yours are so … when you play the piano—”

  “Shsh. I’m giving you a compliment. Please take it.”

  “I’m not so used to compliments.”

  “I can see that.” She started on another nail.

  I watched the top of her head as she worked, the way her hair seemed to shine under the light. I reached out with my free hand and touched the top of her head. She looked up. “Yes?”

  “Nothing. I was reminding myself about how soft your hair is. Henry’s is coarse. ”

  Going back to my nails she said, “I guess after today we won’t see each other anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t think you’re the type of person who can be married and have something on the side. You’re going to be true to your Henry, which I suspect is how it should be.”

  “But that doesn’t mean that you and I can’t see each other.”

  “I think it does. Other hand.”

  “But why? We don’t have to do—that.”

  “I think it’s just a matter of time until we both give in to it again. Don’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t look so sad. You’re getting married today. Every girl’s dream.”

  “I know.” I tried to memorize the feel of my hand in hers. A tear slipped out of my eye.

  “No tears. Not today.” She took out a handkerchief from her purse and dabbed the side of my face with it. “Close your eyes.” She put a light brushing of eye shadow on my eyelids. “You don’t need mascara. Your eyelashes are beautiful the way they are.”

  She opened the lipstick.

  “You have real lipstick too?”

  “It’s just Tangee. ‘War, Women, and Lipstick,’” she quoted from the ad. “I like the way it changes its shade to suit a woman’s coloring.” She stood back waving the lipstick as if it were an artist’s paintbrush. “Let me see. Should I give you a Joan Crawford mouth?”

  “No!” I covered my lips with my hands.

  “Only teasing, my dear. Nothing but looking like yourself will do.” She started putting the lipstick on me. “Stop looking at me like that,” she said. “I’m trying not to—to …” She stood up, took a deep breath leaning on the vanity. “Phew, we better get this done before I …” She took in another deep breath. “How about your legs?”

  “My legs? Uh ….” They started to tingle, and she hadn’t even touched them yet.

  “You seem to have the leg makeu
p on, but what about the seams?”

  “Aggie was going to do that, but then my mother—”

  “Stand up.” She kneeled down and raised my robe a little. As she started drawing the line up the center of my leg, my body shook. She finished the second leg and stood, taking in a breath. “That’s asking a lot, you know, having me touch your legs. They’re lovely.” Another deep breath. “Let’s get this dress on you.” She lifted the dress out of the suitcase. “Take off the bathrobe.” I let the bathrobe fall and stood there in my slip, waiting for her, my robe around my bare feet.

  “Al, I’m certainly going to miss you ,” she said looking at my body. “Uh, we better get this on you.” She lifted the dress over my head, and pulled it down around me. “You look so pretty. I’ll button you up.”

  As she secured each little button on the bodice of my dress, I felt myself sinking.

  “These buttons are so tiny,” she said. “They’re hard to—”

  “Juliana, I don’t think I can do this.”

  “Do what, honey? Get married?” She moved a piece of hair from my forehead.

  “No. I have to do that. I don’t think I can not ever see you again.”

  “Well, when I’m working—when I finally have a booking again—you and Henry will come see my show.”

  “You think I could do that? Sit in the audience with you right up there and—” I kissed her. I didn’t know I was going to do that, but I did. I kissed her right on the mouth, tongue and all. I felt the taste of her lipstick against mine. I wanted her and she wanted me. I could feel it in the way she kissed me back.

  “Alice,” a faraway voice said as the door creaked open. “I have my hands over my eyes, but your mother said—”

  Juliana and I broke away from each other. Henry had dropped his hands and stood there staring. He said nothing. He just stared.

  I walked toward him. “Henry—”

  He charged out of the room.

  “Henry!” I ran to the door.

  “Oh, no,” I heard Juliana say as I dashed into the hall.

  Henry’s best man, in an army uniform, banged against a door. “Let me in, Hank.” He turned to me. “What happened? He just ran into this room. Did something happen between you two?”