Dollbaby: A Novel (14 page)

“Can I get it for a quarter? That’s all I got,” Ibby said.

“No problem, little lady.”

After she got her snowball, Ibby walked out to look for Birdelia, who was waiting for her out front.

“What did you get?” Birdelia asked.

“Something called wedding cake.” Ibby followed Birdelia to a bench near the sidewalk.

“I get the same every time. Cherry.” Birdelia licked the red syrup off the side of the container, where it was dripping.

The girls sat on the bench, enjoying the warm sun on their backs and the coolness of the snowballs on their throats. As Ibby sipped her snowball through a straw, she noticed Birdelia fiddling with the gold chain around her neck.

Birdelia held it out for Ibby to see. “Miss Fannie gave me this necklace for my eleventh birthday this year. See? Got a letter B on it, for Birdelia.”

“It’s a mighty handsome necklace,” Ibby said. “But I can’t see Fannie out shopping for jewelry.”

“She don’t have to go shopping,” Birdelia said. “They come to her.”

“Who do you mean, they come to her?”

“If Miss Fannie needs a necklace, she calls up Mr. Norman, and he brings a case over from his shop. She needs some shoes, Miss Odille from Gus Mayer brings over a dozen pairs to choose from. If she wants something and they don’t deliver, then Crow goes and picks it up for her.”

“Oh,” Ibby said. “Things don’t work that way in Olympia, where I’m from.”

As they slurped their snowballs, a policeman in a blue uniform came up to Ibby and bent down.

“Do you know this colored girl?” He pointed at Birdelia.

“Yes, officer,” Ibby answered, puzzled by his question.

“Where’d you get that black eye?” he asked.

“A neighbor girl did that to me,” Ibby said.

“Mind stepping over here a minute?” He pointed toward a tree up the street and smiled.

Ibby didn’t understand why he wanted to talk to her, but she did as she was told. Birdelia stopped eating her snowball and watched them.

When they got to the tree, the policeman bent down to talk to Ibby. “Did that girl you were sitting with give you that black eye?”

He had a kind face, but the question was making her nervous. Why would he think Birdelia punched her?

“No, sir. Like I told you. Another girl did that. And my knee, too.” Ibby pointed down at her skinned-up knee.

“Who is the little colored girl you’re sitting with?” He pointed at Birdelia, who was craning her neck in their direction.

“Birdelia.”

“And how do you know her?” the policeman asked as he stood up.

“Her mama works for my grandmother.”

“Who is your grandmother, if I may ask?”

“Her name is Fannie Bell.”

“Why didn’t you say so?”

“You know her?” Ibby looked at him, surprised.

“Sure do. I’ve known your grandmother for a long, long time. My name’s Lieutenant Kennedy. And Birdelia is Dollbaby’s daughter. I just didn’t put two and two together.”

Ibby recognized him now. It was the same officer who’d come over to the car the other day when they were downtown buying perfume.

“Why don’t you let me take you on home?” He pointed toward his squad car.

“I’d get in trouble if I didn’t show up with Birdelia,” Ibby said.

Lieutenant Kennedy adjusted the peaked cap on his head. “She can come, too.”

Ibby and the policeman walked back over to where Birdelia was sitting.

“Why don’t you come along with me?” he said to Birdelia.

“I didn’t do nothing,” Birdelia protested as she stood up.

“I’m going to take you home, as a favor to Miss Fannie,” Lieutenant Kennedy said. “That’s all.”

Birdelia eyed him suspiciously before tossing her container in the trash can. On the way home, they passed the Friedrichses’ house. Annabelle was still sitting on the swing in the front yard. When she saw the squad car pass and the two people looking out the back window, she jumped up and shouted for her mother. Ibby slumped down in her seat, just imagining what Annabelle was going to tell her mother this time.

Lieutenant Kennedy pulled up to Fannie’s house and walked the girls to the door. When he rang the doorbell, Doll answered.

“Good day, Dollbaby,” Lieutenant Kennedy said, tipping his hat. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Good, glad to hear it. Fannie home?”

“Miss Fannie’s taking a rest. Something I can help you with?”

“It’s just that some ladies down at the snowball stand, when they saw the black eye on Fannie’s granddaughter here, they thought there might have been some trouble. We’re being extra vigilant this weekend, given the announcement by the president yesterday. Thought I’d bring the girls home, just to be on the safe side. Might want to keep them around the house today.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Kennedy,” Doll said, ushering the girls inside.

“You got a right fine daughter there, Dollbaby. Take good care of her. And please give Fannie my best.” He tipped his hat again.

“Sure will.”

As soon as Doll shut the door, Birdelia piped up. “I didn’t do nothing, I promise.”

“I know, child.” Doll put her arm around Birdelia’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I know.”

I
bby yawned as Queenie held up the Saturday paper and pointed at the front page, where there was a sketch of the American flag with
LIBERTY
written in bold letters beneath it.

“Lookey here, Miss Ibby. They got your name right on the front page of the paper today. They must have known it was your birthday!”

“Gosh, I completely forgot.” Ibby took the paper from Queenie and looked at the front-page headline.

“How could you forget your own birthday?” Queenie asked.

“I don’t know. So much going on, I guess. Has my mama called?”

It had been four days and not a word from her mother. Ibby thought the least Vidrine could do was call to wish her a happy birthday. But Vidrine was Vidrine. Sometimes she wondered if her mother cared about anyone other than herself. But it didn’t stop Ibby from hoping.

“No, baby. Day still young, though.” Queenie stirred the batter. “Oh, and one more thing. Don’t go mentioning to Miss Fannie that Lieutenant Kennedy brought you home yesterday. Okay? That’s something she just don’t need to know.”

Through the open door, a crack of thunder snapped in the distance as a gust of wind swept through the backyard, stirring up the dust and rustling the leaves on the pecan tree.

Queenie glanced out into the yard. “I hope the skies don’t go
spitting down on us today, or it’ll spoil our church picnic. Be a shame, all that good food going to waste.”

Doll darted into the kitchen, grabbed some scissors from a drawer, then swooped out without saying a word.

Queenie nodded toward Fannie’s bedroom. “Doll’s in there trying to get Miss Fannie ready for your birthday lunch, but your grandma, she ain’t cooperating. All she wants to do is watch some of the baseball game on the television this morning. She bettin’ on the Twins over the Yankees. Lawd, hope her team wins, ’cause she hates them Yankees.”

After breakfast, Ibby went back up to her room. After a while, Doll came up to find her.

“What you doing sitting up here all alone?” Doll laid the dress she’d made for her on the bed.

Ibby picked it up and ran her fingers over the material—a sleeveless cobalt blue sheath with a contrasting white band at the hem and neck.

“It’s very nice,” Ibby said.

“So what’s the matter?” Doll asked. “Why the long face?”

Ibby shrugged.

“What you normally do for your birthday?”

“Daddy gives me a card scribbled with some silly rhyme he made up, then takes me to do something special. Just me and him. No Vidrine.”

“And now your daddy ain’t here no more. I understand.” Doll put her finger to her cheek. “Listen, baby. I know you gone have a good time today at Antoine’s. Supposed to be one of the finest restaurants in town.”

“Have you ever been?”

Doll gave Ibby a sideways glance. “No, baby. Never been myself. Now come over here so I can slip this on, see how it fits.” She put the dress over Ibby’s head and zipped it up, then handed her a pair of white lace socks and patent-leather shoes. “Go and take a look in the mirror on the back of the bathroom door.”

Ibby turned from side to side, admiring herself in the mirror.

“Well?” Doll flicked one of her long fingernails.

“It’s perfect. Thank you.”

“I still don’t see no smile on your face. What’s wrong?”

“No, I like it. Really, it’s lovely. It’s just that I’m not used to wearing dresses, that’s all.”

“You look fine. Now come on over here so I can comb your hair,” Doll said.

Doll combed Ibby’s short hair over to the side and stuck a bobby pin with a striped bow in it. Ibby looked in the mirror again.

“I look like a baby,” Ibby protested.

“You got to quit being a tomboy one of these days, Miss Ibby.” Doll yanked the bow, pulled a headband from her pocket, and slid it on her head. “How about that?”

Ibby looked in the mirror. “Better I guess.”

“Now put these on.” Doll handed her a pair of white cotton gloves.

Ibby made a face. “Gloves? I thought only old ladies wore gloves.”

“Down here all proper ladies, young or old, wear gloves to go out,” Doll said.

Ibby wiggled her fingers to get them on. “Out where?”

“Everywhere, baby. To a restaurant, to church, even shopping on Canal Street. Oh. One more thing.” She took a small jar of makeup from her pocket. “Let me see if I can do something about that eye.”

Doll dabbed her finger in the jar and rubbed the creamy beige cover-up on the bruises, which had turned from a bluish purple to a sickly yellow green.

“Good. Now let’s go on downstairs and see if we can get a smile on Miss Fannie’s face, too.”

“Wait a minute.” Ibby ran over to the bedside table and dabbed a bit of perfume on her neck.

“Well,” Doll said, “maybe you not such a tomboy after all.”

When they got to the kitchen, they found Crow leaning against the doorjamb to the back porch, wearing black pants, a black dress
shirt, and polished leather shoes. He was holding a chauffeur’s cap in his hand.

“Happy birthday, Miss Ibby,” he said.

Queenie turned from the stove. “My, what we got here? Future beauty queen, for sure. You remind me of Miss Fannie when she was young—such a perfect long neck, that pointy little nose, those beautiful blue eyes.”

“And a stupid pageboy haircut,” Ibby added.

“Hair will grow, Miss Ibby,” Doll said, then turned to her mother. “Mama, I got to finish with Miss Fannie. She sitting in her room waiting for me to do her hair.”

A little while later Doll held the kitchen door open, looking exhausted. Fannie appeared behind her, fiddling with a beige alligator handbag as she patted down the skirt to a green silk shantung dress. Doll had applied mascara, rouge, and red lipstick, lending a radiant glow to Fannie’s normally sallow complexion, and Fannie had evidently doused herself with a good bit of her Oriental Rose perfume, because Ibby could smell it all the way across the room. What astounded Ibby was Fannie’s perfectly coiffed hair, which was now a soft chestnut brown. If Ibby didn’t know better, she would have sworn the woman standing in the kitchen was a stranger.

“Well, what’s everyone staring at?” Fannie pulled on a pair of white leather gloves.

She said it with a grunt, but Ibby could tell there was a smile hiding behind her blue eyes.

Crow escorted Fannie to the car and opened the back door for her. Ibby got in and sat next to her. Crow drove leisurely down St. Charles Avenue as Fannie smoked a cigarette. Ibby rolled the window down, trying to get some fresh air. When they approached Lee Circle, a huge clap rang out overhead. From the heavy storm clouds lumbering across the sky, Ibby thought it was thunder, but then she heard another clap, then another.

Crow looked at his watch. “Close to noontime. Must be the fifty-gun salute over at the Armory on Dauphine Street.”

“Someone die?” Fannie waved the cigarette smoke away from her face.

“No, Miss Fannie.” Crow glanced at them through the rearview mirror. “Don’t you recall? Today is Independence Day.”

“I know what day it is, for God’s sake,” Fannie said.

“It’s for the Fourth of July celebration,” Crow added.

A few minutes later Crow pulled up to a building on Rue St. Louis with a sign hanging from a chain painted with the words: “Antoine’s Restaurant, since 1840.” A man in a black tuxedo came over and opened the car door for them.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Bell. Numa has your table waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Alciatore,” Fannie said, taking the man’s hand.

Ibby followed her grandmother into a brightly lit room. Most of the tables were empty, save for a lone couple sitting in the far corner next to one of the French doors.

“Right this way,” the maître d’ said, leading them through the room into a small hallway to the left.

Fannie urged Ibby forward. “Only the tourists eat in the front room, dear,” she whispered.

The hall opened into a large airy back dining room bustling with waiters who were darting about like ferrets. The maître d’ ushered them to the only empty table and pulled out a wooden bistro chair for Fannie.

“Numa will be right with you,” he said as he placed paper menus on the table in front of them.

When Ibby sat down, she noticed the walls were covered with dozens of framed photographs of famous people. Fannie saw her looking at them.

“Every dignitary or celebrity who’s ever been to Antoine’s has their picture tacked up on the wall,” Fannie said. “That adds up to a lot of people after a hundred years.”

The picture beside Ibby on the wall was of a swarthy-looking man with slicked-back hair who was staring down at her with a flirtatious grin. She tried to make out the signature on the bottom of the photo.

“‘Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn,’” Fannie said.

Ibby looked at Fannie, puzzled. Had she said something to offend her?

Fannie pointed at the photograph on the wall. “Haven’t you seen
Gone With the Wind
? That was Clark Gable’s most famous line in the movie. He’s the man in the photograph you’re staring at.”

“No, my mom doesn’t let me watch movies about the South,” Ibby said.

“Why? Is she afraid you might get some ridiculous ideas like we have alligators in our backyard and we don’t pay our help?”

Ibby was too embarrassed to answer. “Something like that.”

“Then she’s teaching you that ignorance is bliss,” Fannie remarked.

A portly waiter approached the table. “Mrs. Bell, we haven’t had the pleasure of your company in quite a while.”

His accent was so strange, Ibby had to struggle to understand what he was saying.

“I haven’t had a reason to come, Numa.” Fannie pulled a cigarette from her pocketbook. “But today I do have a reason. It’s my granddaughter’s twelfth birthday. So let’s celebrate.”

Numa bent over to light her cigarette, patting his brow with a white cloth as he did so. He looked over at Ibby. “Happy birthday, young lady.”

“Would you be so kind as to bring me a cocktail? An old-fashioned. Ibby here will have a Shirley Temple.”

“Right away.” He gave a slight bow and left.

“Why does he sound so funny?” Ibby whispered to Fannie across the table.

“He’s a Cajun, honey. They come from the bayou country, where they speak a mangled sort of French as their first language.”

Ibby picked up the menu, turning it upside down, then right side up again.

“Unless you can read French, don’t bother trying to understand it,” Fannie said as she slipped off her gloves.

“You speak French?”

“No, dear, but most people in New Orleans can at least read a French menu. I’ll order for you. I practically know it by heart anyway.”

As Fannie was making up her mind about what to order, Ibby took the opportunity to ask a question that had been on her mind ever since her conversation with Birdelia the day before. “Grandma Fannie, where is Sorrowful Swamp? Is it in the bayou where the Cajuns live?”

Fannie peered over the top of the menu with a puzzled look. “Ibby dear, please just call me ‘Fannie.’ I’m barely fifty-two. ‘Grandma Fannie’ makes me sound so old. As for Sorrowful Swamp, I’ve never heard of such a place. Why do you ask?”

“Birdelia told me that’s where her daddy lives.”

Fannie frowned. “Listen, honey, that’s probably just a story Dollbaby made up to satisfy Birdelia’s curiosity. Birdelia was a boo-boo baby.” Fannie cleared her throat. “There was an unfortunate incident. As a result, Dollbaby got pregnant. She was just a child. It never should have happened, but it did, and now we have Birdelia. There never was a daddy in the picture. Dollbaby doesn’t like to talk about it, so don’t bring it up. And don’t go bursting Birdelia’s bubble. Let Birdelia believe what she wants.”

Ibby thought about it for a moment. “Was I a boo-boo baby, too?”

Fannie squinted one eye. “Why, no dear. Get that silly notion right out of your head.”

When Numa returned, he stood at the table with his pencil and pad, waiting for Fannie to order. Fannie took her time, sipping her cocktail.

“Ibby will start with the shrimp rémoulade, then for an entrée she’ll have the pompano
en papillote
. I’ll have the turtle soup and trout meunière. And please bring a platter of soufflé potatoes.” Fannie handed the menu to Numa. “And another drink please.”