June (30 page)

Then the crowd parted for the second time, this time at the front door, and a collective cheer went up, and Diane turned her swan-like neck toward the entry, and Lindie could tell, from the way her smile snaked its way across her lips, that Jack Montgomery had finally arrived.

Outside, the air was sweet and the light was fading. Crowded as it was inside Two Oaks, most of the St. Judians could be found seated at tables under the vast tent, or dancing to a crooner who’d adopted all the best vocal tricks of Frank Sinatra and Dean Martin. Lindie wended her way through the great herd, eyes darting for a glimpse of June’s ear, for her delicate hand or the milky nape of her neck, but June had disappeared into thin air.

Lindie made her way slowly, steadily, around the tent at the side yard and into the back, where a smaller tent had been pitched. She downed a root beer poured by one of the imported soda jerks.

“What are you wearing?”

Lindie turned to find horrible Darlene Kipp and her henchmen, Ginny Sherman and Gretchen Beck, giggling a few feet away.

“Is it made from drapes?” Gretchen added before Lindie could summon a witty retort.

“If you want my opinion, a girl shouldn’t come to a party without a party dress.” Darlene’s voice was all Miss Priss to match her golden curls. Lindie called up the delicious memory of Ricky’s pin stabbing her ankle.

“Maybe she’s not a girl.” Ginny smirked coyly at Darlene.

Gretchen shrieked. She covered her mouth with her hand.

“Maybe she’s finally grown a little man,” Darlene whispered lustily.

“Well, hello there, ladies.” They all looked up to discover Jack Montgomery’s arm falling familiarly across Lindie’s shoulder. Darlene, Ginny, and Gretchen all gaped, but he played it cool. “Nice night for it.”

“Yessir,” they mustered in unison.

“Linda Sue.” Jack cut them off. “You’re the only one I can trust.” He glanced at the other girls then, as if they were an afterthought. Furrowed his movie star brow. Deepened his voice to a grave bass note. “You mind giving us a minute? It’s a private matter.”

They blathered apologies, tripping over themselves as they kowtowed toward the house. Jack waited until they were gone, then winked.

“What is it?” Lindie asked.

“Top-secret message,” he replied gravely.

Lindie leaned in to receive it.

Coyly, he put his hand up to shield the confidence, but all he said was: “Don’t let the bastards get you down.” His eyes twinkled as he picked up a whiskey sour from the bar. And then Diane found him.

“Darling,” she said, as though Lindie wasn’t there, “I’d love another vodka tonic.” She held up her empty glass and shook it in his face. For a fleeting moment, she looked messy, unhinged. Then she straightened herself and narrowed her eyes.

Lindie watched a muscle in Jack’s jaw clench, then release. He took the glass from Diane’s hand, careful not to touch her, and headed for the back porch and into the house.

Diane watched him go, then swayed toward Lindie. “You know what I’d like to do?” She didn’t wait for Lindie’s reply. “I’d like to take you on a shopping trip, get you some proper clothes.”

Apparently Diane had no idea she’d just mentioned this. How many drinks had she had? The party was only an hour old.

She reached out and brushed Lindie’s cheek. “You are too, too pretty to waste your life in pants.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lindie said, pretending to believe her.

It wasn’t yet dark but the lanterns had been lit. The evening took on a boozy, raucous quality. Out on the side lawn, the band played “Cheek to Cheek,” “I’ve Got a Crush on You,” and then “As Time Goes By,” which everyone recognized from
Casablanca
. Those who’d made it through the war clung together on the dance floor. Diane signed autographs; Lindie tried to slip away, but Diane kept her close. The party dazzled on as they awaited Jack’s return.

But instead they heard a “Miss DeSoto?” and turned to find Cheryl Ann charging toward them. She waved a drink in the air. Her hair had come unpinned and she was slick with sweat, breath rasping as she pushed through the crowd.

Diane couldn’t hide her disdain. Her lip curled and she tried to edge away, but everyone was watching and she couldn’t exactly brush off her hostess. “Jack told me to bring you your martini!” Cheryl Ann explained, as Artie Danvers walked by balancing two drinks. Lindie slipped behind him, into the party, unnoticed.

Soon she found herself in the side yard. June was waiting at the edge of the dance floor under the vast white canopy. The orchestra was playing “It Had to Be You.” June was turned away from Artie, and Lindie, swaying ever so slightly, watching a handful of married couples twirl together. Artie sidled up beside her and offered the drink. She turned to him with a wide, friendly smile, and Lindie ducked behind one of the tent poles so June wouldn’t see her. She had to admit they looked genuinely happy as they talked and sipped. She thought again of Artie’s letter; what had read, at first, like cowardice, now seemed as though it might have been the brave truth. What if he was a truly honorable man, the kind who’d stay away from the woman he loved in order to give her a choice? Maybe the choice, for June, wasn’t simply between Jack or Artie; maybe it was based on a much more complex calculus than even Lindie could understand.

The orchestra began “I Get a Kick out of You.” Artie tipped his head toward the dance floor. A blush brushed June’s cheeks. He offered to take her drink, and she acquiesced. He set it down on the nearest table and held out his hand. She looked at it, then him, resting her palm on his and letting him lead her onto the dance floor. Lindie watched them swirl out into the music together, his right hand light against her lower back, his left hand gripping hers. They eyed each other. He looked grateful and pleased, and she looked as elegant as ever.

When the song finished, a bright sound tinkled across the tent: silverware rapping against crystal. It grew louder and more definitive as it became clear that Cheryl Ann, Jack, and Diane had gathered below the porte cochere, that damn porte cochere that Lindie had spent the past three years scrambling up.

Diane beamed at the crowd as it pressed in around them, appreciative silence falling over everyone. A flashbulb lit up the night. “On behalf of the cast and crew of
Erie Canal,
” she said, “Jack and I want to say thank you.” The crowd clapped and murmured gleefully. Diane tilted her head like a queen might, overseeing her peasants.

Jack raised his glass too. “You’ve been the best hosts us thugs from the West Coast could hope for. We sure are going to miss you.” Diane interrupted him then, apparently not yet done with her speech. He frowned, peeved.

As Diane interjected her thoughts about the perfect weather and the true meaning of hospitality, Lindie’s attention was pulled toward the front of the house, from which two men had just emerged. A flash of silver at one of their waists drew her eye. Curious, she edged out of the crowd. By the time Lindie made it to the porch, the men had walked around the far side of it, toward the kitchen. She followed, dashing across the front of the house and then leaning into the rhododendron bush to hear better.

It was Uncle Clyde; the torchlight had caught the silver gun at his waist. The other man was Fred Ripvogle, and, though Lindie couldn’t hear what that man was saying, she could see he was trying to calm Clyde down.

But Clyde was steamed. His voice carried across the night wind. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, old man. You go back into that office and you fight for the bid. ‘No’ isn’t good enough. I thought you had this locked down.”

Ripvogle was crisp and efficient in his long suit, and Lindie could tell that he wished to be anywhere but there. But his back was turned to Lindie, so she couldn’t hear his response.

Clyde laughed hard at whatever Ripvogle said; it was clear he’d been drinking. He looked all around them then, to make sure no one was listening; Lindie pressed herself between the bush and the house. Through the leaves, she watched Clyde lean toward Ripvogle, one hand shielding his mouth. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, old man, but as soon as you-know-who dies, and this house is mine, well, let’s just say I’ve got plans.” Ripvogle didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in hearing what these plans were, but Clyde plowed right through. “We both know a house like this is worthless, taking up all this space. Who wants to live like this anymore? We’re talking three acres, right in the heart of a perfect little town on its way up in the world. I say, let’s tear it down and build modern houses, modern amenities. With you winning the bid on the interstate—”

“I told you, Clyde,” Ripvogle said, trying to extract himself, “none of that is going to happen.”

But Clyde came around Ripvogle, blocking him. “What the hell is wrong with you? If you know what’s good for you, you’ll walk right into the governor’s office and tell him you’re back in.”

Ripvogle was a gentleman, Lindie could see, but Clyde had tested him. “You’re the big man, aren’t you, Clyde. Full of ideas. But seems to me you’ve got no way to carry them out. Nice dream to think of turning this place into small lots, but how will you do it? Who holds the deed after he goes? How will you get it from them? You’re small town, Clyde. I should have known better than to waste my time with small town.”

Then Ripvogle stormed right past Clyde, and right past Lindie, down across the wide front lawn, Clyde nipping at his heels the whole way.

Lindie trembled behind the rhododendron bush. She laid her hand against Two Oaks’s cool brick and tried to keep from crying. It seemed so obvious now: all along, Uncle Clyde had had nothing but money on his mind. Thank goodness Apatha was Lemon’s bride; Lindie told herself there’d be no way he could get at Two Oaks, because Apatha wouldn’t allow it.

From the other side of the house came a great clattering of crystal against crystal, and the sound of the whole town hurrahing, then the orchestra striking up “So Long, It’s Been Good to Know You.”

Lindie made her way around the front of the house, pulling leaves from her hair. Under the tent, Diane was wearing a broad, genuine smile in Jack’s arms; a smattering of applause dusted over them. Diane gazed up at Jack adoringly, but his face was a placid mask. Lindie wondered why Diane would want to hold so tightly to a man who didn’t seem to like her very much.

“I’m so sorry.”

Lindie turned to find June standing right beside her.

“I shouldn’t have butted in,” Lindie blurted, tears already springing to her eyes. She was flooded with forgiveness, and ready to forget June’s cruelty.

But June shook her head. “Those were nasty things I said to you. I don’t know what’s come over me. Sometimes I feel as if I’ve become a monster, this wild, selfish beast who wants to eat everything in sight.” Her hands twisted against each other. Lindie laid her own hand on them to calm June down.

“It’s as though there are two parts of me,” June explained, searching Lindie’s eyes for an answer. “The part that wants to do what I’m supposed to—the part that wants to be a mother and have a hope chest and live here forever. And then there’s this other, beastly part of me that I didn’t even know was there before. It doesn’t care what anyone thinks. It just wants to”—she paused, searching for a word—“eat Jack up.” She turned red, realizing what she’d said. “Not like that.”

“Sometimes like that,” Lindie offered, then giggled, wondering if she’d gone too far.

June was the color of a beet, but a smile slunk across her lips. Lindie felt a wave of relief.

Cheryl Ann waved frantically from the side door, calling June’s name. June sighed and tipped her head toward the house. “I’ll find you?”

“Sure.”

June’s hand cupped Lindie’s elbow and squeezed, and then she walked to meet her mother.

Lindie let the insults drift away, up into the purple night. The nearly quartered moon was finally in the right spot; the stars were scattered around it like thousands of its children. It was beautiful, this party, all the people she’d grown up with dressed as though they were part of a movie themselves, everyone laughing and dancing, Two Oaks spangled like a lady too. Torches twinkled. Lindie drifted into the backyard, then up the back porch and into the house, picking up bits of conversation and amusement, watching people flirt and compliment.

Nearly an hour later, belly full, head a bit fuzzy from some stolen gin, Lindie found herself back out on the side lawn. Children were being carried home, the middle-aged bidding their good-byes. The musicians were taking their final break, and she could hear the tinny sound of the record player playing Count Basie from the ballroom. She had just decided to fight her way back inside and up the humid staircase when her arm was suddenly clenched from behind, the rest of her held firmly in place by a hand that clamped her shoulder. Her body tensed as she strained to see who was holding her.

“Where’s your fucking father?” Clyde’s whiskey-stained fury sprayed her ear.

“Ouch,” she cried, prying herself away from the talons embedded in her arm. Clyde’s eyes were wild. Lindie cast around for help, but everyone was too drunk and distracted to notice his hands on her.

“You scared?” he growled.

“Uncle Clyde,” she said, trying to win him with reason, “what’s the matter?”

“You should be scared. No one crosses me and gets away with it.” And with that last, spitting sentence, he let her go. Lindie ran across the lawn and into her house, mind blazing with his threat. Even in her fuzzy state, she understood that the conversation she’d overheard between Ripvogle and Clyde had something to do with her father’s “research” about Clyde’s claim to Lemon’s land. She had never seen Clyde like that, never felt frightened of him, or felt how her fright might fuel him.

The house lay quiet. She could hear the muffled party through the walls. Her heart was a bass drum. Her eyes stung. She tore through the dark rooms, begging for her father, but he was nowhere to be found. Clyde was right—she was scared. She changed into dungarees quick as she could and tried to think of a good place to spend the night. Idlewyld was the first that came to mind.

She was out in the garage, pushing the Schwinn toward the alleyway, when she heard the man’s voice. She ducked back into the darkness. The voice was coming from the window that led onto the alley, and she edged her way against it, grabbing a hammer from Eben’s tool bench as she went. She flattened herself against the inside wall.

Whoever it was was standing just out there, where the garage met a tangle of thornbushes.

“But don’t you see,” he was saying, “it’s all for you. All the booze and the music, every dance, every laugh, I put it here for you. I wanted you to see it could be like this. We could have one of these every single day.”

“And if I don’t want this every single day?”

“We can live in a shack by the ocean for all I care. All I want is you.”

It was them, of course: Jack and June.

June hesitated. “I do want to be with you.”

“Oh, June.” His voice opened with desire.

“But maybe it doesn’t matter what I want. What we want. It’s selfish to only do what one wants.”

“So call us selfish then.”

Lindie heard him kiss her. A small moan marinated in June’s throat. The sound of that quiet glory made Lindie warm and wet.

“But I love them. Even, yes, Artie. Not anything like how I love you but—”

“You love me?”

June sighed. “And my mother. And even St. Jude, though I know you can’t imagine it. This is home. It’s too much to think of just walking away.”

“If you love St. Jude so damn much, I’ll build you a replica on the Santa Monica Pier.” He was only kidding, but Lindie wondered if he was playing his part right. June’s concerns were not to be taken lightly. A breeze rustled in through a crack in the wall, and she crouched down to find the chink. It offered her a partial view, dim in the light thrown off the back porch. Jack was pressed against June, her back flat against the garage on the other side of the alleyway. Her dress was halfway up her leg.

“But there’s a perfectly lovely St. Jude right here.” June had her hand against Jack’s chest to keep him from burying his face in her neck.

“We can’t stay here.”

“But this is my home.”

“June, June.” He stepped back from her then, and took her face in his hands. “Do you want to bring them along? We’ll bring them along.” He kissed one of June’s cheeks. “Your mother.” He kissed the other one. “And that funny old man from the pharmacy.” He bent his face to her neck and kissed her there. “And the boys who set off firecrackers in the mailboxes—”

“Don’t tease. They’re counting on me.”

“We’ll find a way.” He rubbed her cheek. “Every promise is made to be broken.”

She was silent then. Lindie thought June might weep, but instead she watched her look at Jack, really look at him. And then June’s arms found their way around his neck, and her lips drew up to his. Lindie sighed at the kiss, at the sound of it, at the length of it, at the way June’s breasts pressed up against Jack, and how he leaned into her with something like possession. He drew June’s arms up above her head, pinning her wrists onto the wall. He kissed her deeply again, as if drinking from a well.

Then he drew June’s skirt up and up and up. He gripped both her wrists together with one hand, passing his other one from her shoulder, down to her breast, then gently over her stomach and into the waistband of her underwear. June’s eyes popped open, but he kissed her again, and soon any alarm June might have experienced was replaced with a dazzle of ecstasy. Lindie felt it too, like a bolt of lightning crackling through the wall that separated them. She placed her hands against it to catch her breath, but her eyes never left the sight of June and Jack together.

June writhed against Jack’s fingers, head tipped back. He let her arms go, supporting her weight as she collapsed into him. Every bit of her seemed to have focused and melted into that one small spot between her legs, where Jack was stroking her.

June’s breath grew rapid. Her eyes fluttered. She moaned, and then, at once, cried out. Jack pressed his hand over her mouth; she licked and bit it until she had quieted.

Afterward, she giggled. “On second thought, let’s not bring my mother.” Jack laughed too, then leaned forward to extinguish the laugh on her flushed cheek.

Later, much later, June found Lindie sitting on Lindie’s porch. Eben was nowhere in sight, so Lindie’d dared him home by lighting a cigarette. It was long past midnight. The party was over, but St. Jude was resisting sleep like a reluctant child.

“You looked happy dancing with Artie,” Lindie said, because she couldn’t say, “You looked happy behind the garage with Jack.” The night had only complicated matters, when all she’d wanted was to have them smoothed out.

But at least she’d made up with June. They sat together on the top step, and Lindie leaned her head on June’s shoulder. They watched the orchestra pack their instruments, and the waiters box the glasses and fold the linens. In the morning the trucks would come to drive everything back to Columbus. The girls’ hands looped around their knees. They were nearly invisible in the darkness.

Sometime after that, Diane DeSoto came tearing out from behind the far side of Two Oaks. Her heels were hooked on her fingertips. The blond helmet of her hair attracted the moonlight. June grabbed Lindie’s wrist and pulled her onto the porch. They scrambled behind the safety of the porch’s wall, where they could peek out at the street but stay hidden.

They were rewarded when Diane stopped only feet away, dropping her shoes onto the sidewalk and shuffling them on. She was sniffling, shivering, and a low hum was emanating from her that set Lindie’s teeth on edge. Then, somehow, he was there too, behind her. June shivered at the sight of him—Jack, grabbing Diane by the wrist and drawing her to him in the same forceful gesture Lindie had seen on set that day early in the shoot, when they kissed in front of the camera more than a dozen times.

But the words out of Jack’s mouth were not loving. His other hand clenched the base of Diane’s throat. “Dare me,” he snarled. “Just dare me to destroy you.”

A sob seized Diane. The girls watched her break free to hobble down the sidewalk. Jack watched her too. Then, as the wind sighed through the oaks, he shook his head and went after her, as though he regretted what he had no choice in doing.