Dollbaby: A Novel (26 page)

W
hen the day of her party arrived, Ibby sat in Doll’s sewing room all morning as Doll fussed with her hair, pinning and unpinning a hairpiece to her head.

“Why do I have to wear one of these? Can’t you just tease and spray my hair like everybody else?”

“Needs to be just right,” Doll said.

“But I feel so silly,” Ibby said, looking at herself in the handheld mirror.

“You gone look beautiful—now hold still. After I finish with you, I got to go take care of Miss Fannie, and believe me, that’s gone take up the rest of the day.”

A branch of the oak tree rubbed against the window, making a sound like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Doll winced. “Daddy was supposed to trim that tree for the party. Guess he didn’t make it to the branches up top. Hope he cleared the front walkway, or the guests ain’t gone be able to get in the front door. I don’t know why Miss Fannie won’t hire a tree man to come shape up that tree. It’s like she’s afraid to mess with it.”

“Why’s that?” Ibby asked.

“I don’t know. She’s always been that way about that tree, like it means something to her. It was here when she arrived, and I guess she
wants it to be here when she’s gone.” Doll patted the hairpiece on Ibby’s head. “Okay, I got it looking right pretty. Don’t go messing up what I just done, you hear me? Now I got to go see about Miss Fannie.”

When it finally came time for the party guests to arrive, Ibby and Fannie stood in the front parlor—Ibby in her floor-length dotted swiss dress and an orchid corsage, Fannie in a knee-length robin’s-egg-blue peau de soie with a corsage of pink roses—waiting to receive their guests. The scent of Fannie’s Oriental Rose perfume filled the room. Doll had spent all afternoon making Fannie look presentable. She’d dyed Fannie’s hair and had given her a perm, done her nails, and even put on false eyelashes.

“Doll did a nice job on your dress. I hope you told her so,” Fannie said.

“She did a nice job on you, too,” Ibby shot back, still mad at Fannie for making her wear an old-fashioned long dress.

The grandfather clock in the hall chimed, a reminder that eight o’clock had now come and gone. It was an hour past the party time, and still no guests.

Crow was busy rearranging the bottles on the makeshift bar that had been set up in the front parlor. Birdelia was in the kitchen rewarming the hors d’oeuvres for a second time as Doll set another platter of food on the dining-room table. Through the front window, Ibby could see T-Bone and two musician buddies of his sitting in the rockers on the front porch.

Birdelia came into the room and held a silver tray out to Ibby. “Cheese puff?”

“No, thanks.” Ibby swatted at a paper lantern above her head.

It was the first time she’d ever seen Birdelia in a maid’s uniform. She knew Birdelia hated wearing it, but Doll had given her no choice.

Birdelia narrowed her eyes. “Don’t get used to it.”

Crow was straightening the glasses on the bar. “Queenie borrowed this here tuxedo from Mr. Lionel, the undertaker.” He tugged on the lapel. “Don’t fit quite right.”

“You look just fine, Poppy.” Birdelia patted her grandfather on the
back. She put the tray of cheese puffs down on the bar and yanked on her apron. “Mama’s uniform don’t fit me quite right neither.”

Crow said, “Birdelia, why don’t you go ask T-Bone if they need a drink of water before the guests arrive?”

“I just did that not fifteen minutes ago, Poppy,” Birdelia protested.

“I’ll go,” Ibby offered. She started toward the front door.

Fannie grabbed Ibby’s arm with her gloved hand. “Be patient, dear. You never want to be the first to arrive or the last to leave. It’s fashionable to be late.”

“Except to a funeral. It’s not fashionable to be late to a funeral,” Crow chimed in.

Queenie came into the dining room to check on the food. “Lawd, this rate, I’m gone have to take it all back into the kitchen and warm it up again.”

“The guests will be here shortly,” Fannie said, taking a quick glance at her watch.

Everyone’s attention was drawn to a noise that sounded like the howling of the wind.

“It supposed to rain tonight?” Queenie asked.

“No,” Doll said, “that’s the oak tree in the front yard scraping against the house. Always scares me when I hear it ’cause it sounds like an old woman crying.”

“Crow, didn’t I ask you to trim that tree back for the party?” Fannie asked.

“I did, Miss Fannie. Cut off a big limb that was blocking the front walk, but that’s a big tree. Couldn’t do nothing about some of them other branches leaning against the house.”

There was a shuffling on the front porch as the first guests arrived. Sister Gertrude burst through the front door, her robes swinging with every step. She embraced Fannie in a hug that seemed out of character.

“Fannie dear, I’m so happy to see you.” She gave Fannie a kiss on the cheek. “Am I late?”

“No, Gertie dear. You’re right on time. Come on in.” Fannie gestured toward Ibby. “You know my granddaughter.”

“One of our best students.” Sister Gertrude patted Ibby lightly on the shoulder.

“I’ll catch up with you as soon as the rest of the guests arrive,” Fannie said before turning her attention to a man that came in right behind Sister Gertrude. “Why, hello, Kennedy. Been a long time. I see you’ve risen in the ranks. You’re a commander now. It’s about time.”

He kissed Fannie’s hand. “Thank you. So nice to see you.” Then he turned to Ibby. “I believe we’ve met.”

Ibby shook his hand. “Yes, sir. Thank you for coming.”

“Kennedy, dear, would you mind escorting Sister Gertrude to the bar?” Fannie asked.

“My pleasure.” He held his elbow out for Sister Gertrude.

Emile Rainold came next, followed by several of the neighbors, including the Jeffreyses.

“How do, Miss Fannie. So nice of you to invite me.”

Ibby turned to find Annabelle Friedrichs and her mother, Honey, dressed in matching pink taffeta frocks. Mr. Friedrichs wasn’t with them.

Annabelle cordially stuck out her hand and forced a smile. “Thank you for having me, Ibby.”

Ibby shook her hand and was busy watching Annabelle sashay off into the crowd when she heard Winnie’s voice.

“Miss Fannie, may I introduce my parents, Myrtis and Winkie Waguespack, and my three brothers, Wiley, Whitfield, and Werner.”

“Fannie.” Myrtis Waguespack shook Fannie’s hand, then turned to Ibby and smiled ever so sweetly. “Why, Ibby Bell, don’t you look a picture! Such a pretty yellow dress. Bless your heart, where did you find such a thing?”

Myrtis Waguespack’s remark seemed less like a compliment than a veiled insult. Ibby could tell by the look on Fannie’s face that she was not pleased by it either.

“Doll made it for her,” Fannie replied.

“My, aren’t we lucky to have somebody like Doll to do our sewing for us,” Myrtis Waguespack said.

Fannie returned the favor by eyeing Myrtis’s green-and-blue-plaid dress, which made her round torso look like an overstuffed chair. “Isn’t that one of your mother’s dresses? Yes—I believe I remember seeing her in it at Ida Brewbacker’s funeral a couple of years ago.”

Myrtis Waguespack smiled, but her eyes were simmering. “Why no, you must be mistaken, Fannie dear. I had it made for Winnie’s party, but thank you for noticing.”

Wiley Waguespack stepped forward and nudged his mother out of the way. “Ibby, nice to see you again.”

Ibby’s eyes met Wiley’s as she shook his hand. She had danced with him at Winnie’s party last week. His cheeks carried the familiar Waguespack ruddiness, which was not very attractive on Winnie but was boyishly charming on her brother. Ibby couldn’t take her eyes off him.

“I think that’s the last of the guests. Let’s go join the party,” Fannie said.

Ibby lingered by the front door.

“Ibby dear, are you expecting someone else?” Fannie asked.

Ibby was still harboring the notion that her mother might show up. It was foolish, she knew.

She gave a small shake of her head. “No, Fannie. There’s no one else.”

Fannie went in to join the party, but Ibby hesitated, gazing through the glass in the front door as she pulled off her white gloves and tossed them onto the table in the front hall.

Doll came over with a tray. “What you doing standing here in the hall all alone?”

“No reason.” Ibby shrugged, taking one last glance at the door.

“Miss Ibby, you waiting for your mama to show up?” Doll asked. “Get that thought right on out of your head and get on in there and
chase after that boy you got your eye on.” She nudged Ibby with her elbow.

“What boy?” Ibby said.

“You know darn well which one. I seen the way you looked at that Wiley fella when he came in. Now go on.”

Ibby noticed Sister Gertrude standing next to the bar sipping on an old-fashioned and talking animatedly with Fannie. She never did understand how the two could be friends. She wandered into the dining room and dipped a fried oyster into the bowl of cocktail sauce. She spotted Wiley Waguespack chatting with one of her classmates, Marcelle de Marigny, across the table. Ibby couldn’t hear what Marcelle was saying, but the ruddiness in Wiley’s cheeks had deepened. He glanced up for a moment but took no notice of Ibby.

Winnie came up and stood beside Ibby. “I see Marcelle is putting the moves on my brother.”

“He’s so handsome,” Ibby remarked.

“Well, you might as well forget about my brother.”

“Why, is he seeing someone?”

Winnie looked at her with exasperation. “Wiley told me he thought you were cute, but it would never work out.”

“Why not?”

“Because my brothers are only allowed to date good Catholic girls, that’s why.”

Ibby dropped the oyster back onto the platter, not caring if anyone noticed. “Will you excuse me?”

Ibby was trying hard to quell the urge to slap Winnie Waguespack as she wandered through the crowd. She spotted Emile Rainold entertaining a short bald man in conversation. Mr. Rainold was perspiring profusely, occasionally wiping his brow with the back of his hand. Across the way, Honey Friedrichs was flirting with their next-door neighbor Mr. Jeffreys. Ibby noticed Mr. Jeffreys’s diminutive wife, Inez, standing on the other side of the dining room, watching her husband’s antics.

Ibby headed over to the bar.

“What’ll it be, Miss Ibby?” Crow was perspiring as well. He patted his cheek with a cloth. “Champagne? Maybe a Sazerac?”

“Just a Shirley Temple.”

People in New Orleans were used to drinking more than communion wine by the time they were teenagers, but Ibby didn’t much care for alcohol. As she turned to go, she bumped into T-Bone, spilling her drink all over his starched white shirt.

She picked up a cocktail napkin and tried to wipe his shirt. “I’m so sorry.”

He grabbed her hand. “It’s okay, Miss Ibby. Don’t worry about it.”

The warmth of his hand made Ibby look up.

“You look right pretty this evening, Miss Ibby. Right pretty.”

Across the way, Fannie was giving Ibby a disapproving look.

“Miss Ibby, you all right?” T-Bone asked.

Ibby smiled at her grandmother, then reached over and gave T-Bone a big kiss on the cheek.

Fannie came charging over. “Ibby darling, why don’t you go mingle with some of the other guests?”

“I’m fine right here.”

Fannie grabbed her arm and pulled her away, whispering in her ear, “Don’t embarrass me in front of my friends, young lady, or there will be consequences.”

Ibby yanked her arm away and stormed into the kitchen, fuming. She undid her corsage and hurled it across the room. It landed beside the open back door.

Queenie came in carrying a tray. “What you doing hiding in the kitchen? That don’t look like no party face. Something wrong?”

Ibby shook her head.

“We gone run out of food soon if those people keep eating like they is. You’d think they hadn’t eaten in a week. You seen Birdelia? Where that girl gone off to?” Queenie muttered as she carried the tray into the dining room.

Ibby was about to go back into the party when she heard a rustling in the backyard. At first she thought it was just the low grunts of the bullfrogs. Then she heard it again. It sounded like somebody whispering. She turned off the kitchen light, not wanting to be seen, and looked out the window.