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A Modern Wicked Fairy Tale: Red © June 2011 by Selena Kitt
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First Edition June 2011
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A Modern Wicked Fairy Tale: Red
By Selena Kitt
It was one of those weeks that tease you, pretending spring was really here. Back in Nebraska, the tender shoots of flowers might even be fooled into popping their buds up through the soil, seeking warmth. They would be disappointed and wither a week later, unable to turn back and now unable to go forward, frozen in place, stunted. It made Mae think of home with a painful twist in her belly, and she almost wished again for the cold and damp.
But her body yearned for sun, betraying her heart, and the warmth brightened her mood, in spite of herself. Mae found herself humming as she spread the homemade rye bread with a thick layer of mayonnaise and followed that with splotches of mustard, upon which she stacked ham, bologna and salami so high Dagwood himself would have been envious. Her one window was open wide, and although the sound of the city eighteen stories below was nothing like the soft bray of the horses or the bleating of the young lambs at home, the air was a cool reminder of the real warmth soon to come. Spring came, even here, in the concrete jungle of New York City.
Sandwiches made, wrapped them in waxed paper and slipped them into the basket at her feet. A glass-lined thermos filled with lemonade, two ripe tomatoes for her, and a bag of those yummy new Lay’s potato chips. She was practically addicted to them. There were also two moist, chocolate cupcakes for dessert spread with fluffy white cream, and two cloth napkins—white with an embroidered monogram and delicate lace edges in which she’d carried home pastries from her grandmother’s house.
She took a dizzying glance down at the street before she reluctantly shut the window above the sofa. The apartment was an L-shape with living room, dinette and kitchen, and a small bedroom she barely fit a twin bed and dresser into. It had a window, but she had discovered it painted shut. No amount of complaint had motivated the landlord to action, however, and her strength was no match for the stuck window.
The breeze as she slid the living room window closed reminded her that while the air might promise spring, winter was still around the corner, and instead of going out in just her skirt and a sweater, Mae plucked her coat off the chair and slid her arms into the sleeves. For quite some time, she had nothing but her old patchwork coat to wear against the elements. It only took once of getting caught in a cold downpour though, dragging into Grandmother’s like a drowned cat after running the last few breathless blocks, before her grandmother had presented her with a solution at their next weekly meeting—a brand new, slick, red umbrella.
Of course, Mae just never remembered the umbrella, but her grandmother had anticipated her granddaughter’s absent-minded nature and accompanied her gift with a matching thick, wool, hooded coat. She wore it with secret pride and a great deal of satisfaction, the hood hiding her face from the crowds on the street. And if it hadn’t been for her concealing red hood, she never would have bumped into Griff in the first place—literally.
Smiling at the memory, she buttoned her coat and cinched the red, wool belt before slinging her basket over her arm. She was almost to the door when she remembered the real reason she was taking this trip in the first place, still sitting in a white bag on the table.
“Stupid girl,” she murmured, doubling back to pack the crinkly white bag into her basket. There was a mirror at the entryway and she paused to check herself over. Her long dark hair had been one of the first things to go, now cut short and fashionably, little curls pasted to the sides of her cheeks. She had spent hours in her bathroom learning how to use the make-up her grandmother insisted on, painting her lips a bright, luscious red, as if she’d been picking raspberries all afternoon and eating half of what she’d gathered. Grandmother didn’t like untidiness and she was careful to groom herself appropriately before she left.
There was just enough room left on top for the white bag, but the lid didn’t want to latch and she had to force it, glancing at the clock, anxious to be gone now. There was no spoken time between them, no said arrangement, but the assumption was noon. He was always there at noon, looking surprised to see her every single time, and yet she knew he really wasn’t.
He couldn’t be.
Could he?
* * * *
He was waiting for her, watching. Following someone in the crowded streets of New York was easier than anywhere else in the world. He was a magician, fading into the crowd, ducking under an awning if she happened to look his way. If she saw him too soon, it wouldn’t be the end of the world, but he was a careful predator, his tracking sense honed and sharp. There was no sense alerting the prey before you were ready to pounce.
So he sat where he had every day, waiting with an open paper in front of him, the news more crushing today in 1933 than it had been years ago, when the depression had officially started and investors had reportedly taken nosedives from the high windows of New York skyscrapers.
He glanced up, wondering what it had been like. He almost wished he’d been here then, but the grift hadn’t brought him this far, not yet. Back then, he’d been running small-time in podunk towns in the Midwest, little mom and pop cons that left him with some food in his belly and some money in his pocket, but not much else.
Now he was in the big time, and the girl he’d followed was his ticket to milk and honey. His mouth watered at the thought, his nostrils flaring almost as if he’d caught her scent, although the only thing he could smell was the overripe apple cart and the oppressing weight of exhaust fumes. There were far too many autos in the city, although the mayor claimed they would have better public transit than the elevated train lines they had now, promising Roosevelt’s New Deal would help them finish the underground subway, making it the largest mass transit system in the world.
I’ll believe it when I see it. He wasn’t cynical—just realistic. The world didn’t hand things to you, after all. You had to go and out and take them. By force, if necessary. And unfortunately, he’d found it necessary far too often in his life. But a man had to eat, didn’t he? He didn’t necessarily believe in Roosevelt’s New Deal—but he damned well knew he could make his own new deal, and that’s just what he intended to do.
He caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye, his heart thudding in his chest, although he showed no outward sign of excitement. Instead, he folded his paper slowly and neatly, tucking it into his pocket as the girl swept out of the tenement looking as fresh as a ripe strawberry, ready for plucking. He couldn’t believe his luck when she’d started to wear the red cape, making it ridiculously easy to spot her, but while sometimes there were little hiccups in his plans, just stumbling blocks or speed bumps in the road, most of the time the world seemed to conspire to give him just what he needed or wanted. Almost as if it had been meant to be.
He let himself smile, trying the expression on, his muscles flexed and ready. The time was now.
* * * *
Mae felt her stomach drop when she got to the corner and didn’t see Griff. It was a little after noon, but not by much. Where could he be? She stood there, watching the cars go by, wondering what to do.
She knew, of course, what she should do—go on to her grandmother’s, as she had planned, and drop off the medicine she’d picked up at the pharmacy. She’d taken the phone call from the pharmacist that morning, knowing it meant a trip across town, and had been secretly thrilled. The telephone in her apartment was one of the things her grandmother had insisted on and had even paid for, renting the model from the phone company, and while it was a luxury Mae wouldn’t have even considered if she’d been on her own entirely, it had served to be quite an amazing convenience.
Of course, there was no way to call Griff. He was just here every day, waiting for her—somehow she was sure he was waiting just for her, even if he looked busy every time she arrived. She didn’t even know where the man might reside. Did he live anywhere? Maybe in one of the shanty towns by the river? She shuddered at the thought.
No, Griff was clean, respectable, if a little rough around the edges sometimes. He had a job—had made one for himself right there on the New York street corner, selling apples out of his cart. He was a survivor with an entrepreneurial spirit she admired. He reminded her a little of her father.
But your father wasn’t the man you thought he was, now was he?
That thought made her swallow hard and blink fast and look for something to distract herself. The cars had stopped now—the traffic officer high up in his tower had changed the light—and she could go, but she didn’t. She didn’t trust herself to make it across, even following amidst the crowd, with the sudden rise of tears stinging her eyes. Instead, the horde parted around her, jostling to get to the other side of the busy street before the light changed again.
Mae backed away from the intersection clutching her basket, letting the people pass her by. She probably would have just run home and called her grandmother to tell her she wasn’t feeling well, that she’d come by tomorrow instead, if he hadn’t run into her like a brick wall coming around the corner, making her drop her basket, the already-straining latch popping open and spilling the contents onto the concrete.
“Excuse me!” she exclaimed, trying to catch her breath, wondering if the glass in the thermos was broken as she stopped its roll with a swipe of her hand, kneeling gracefully on the sidewalk to try and replace the basket’s contents.
She didn’t realize it was him until he was squatting down beside her, helping her put things back, and she saw the deft movements of his hands. She knew those hands.
“Griff!”
“Hey, Red.” He grinned, giving her a wink. “We really have to stop meeting like this.” He sounded breathless, like he’d been running when he’d literally run into her—again.
She giggled, remembering the first time she’d met him, on her way to grandmother’s, a farm girl in a big city hurrying through the streets in her new red wool cape, her hood so low she could barely see anything at all. She certainly hadn’t seen him, stepping out from behind his apple cart, and he hadn’t been looking her way—instead he’d been focused on the four apples he’d been juggling to the delight of a small crowd. She had hit him square in his very solid chest with her pert little nose, surprising them both. He’d done the very same thing that day, she remembered, as apples rained down onto the concrete—that sly smile and the greeting he now used every time they met, “Hey, Red!”
She smiled and held up one of the sandwiches. “I made your favorite.”
“You are an angel.” He snatched at it, already unwrapping the waxed paper to get to the bread and meat before he’d even fully stood, holding his other hand out to help her up. “I’m starving.”
“Where were you?” She knew her voice sounded accusatory, and she didn’t want him to know how worried she’d been. “I thought you’d been kidnapped.”
He shrugged. “I thought I saw someone I knew.” He talked with his mouth half-full of sandwich, nodding toward the corner he’d come sailing around and swallowing. “But I never caught up.”
She pursed her lips, eyes narrowing. “Oh. I see.”
“It wasn’t a dame,” he assured her, giving a lopsided smile.
“No?”
“No, Red.” He took her by the elbow, steering her toward his apple cart. “Besides, with a doll like you around, what man could look at anything else?”
“You’re crackers,” she protested, but she was smiling.
“That’s a fact.”
But now he had her curious. “So who was it?”
“Just some Joe I used to know.” He pulled her behind his cart, as familiar to her as home now. “Come on, Red, let’s take a load off.”
They sat on wooden folding chairs behind Griff’s apple cart, eating food out of the basket and watching the city walk by, dabbing their mouths with the embroidered cloth napkins Mae had packed as if they were eating in the finest restaurant in town. She couldn’t have been any happier if they had been, she figured, when Griff dotted a bit of frosting from his chocolate cupcake onto her nose.
“Hey!” she protested, making a face and wiping at the sticky stuff with her napkin. “Didn’t your mother ever tell you not to play with your food?”
“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked, his mouth mostly full of cupcake as he licked his sticky fingers. Grabbing three of his apples, he tossed them casually into the air, juggling them easily. He always sold more apples than anyone because he did all sorts of tricks with them. He could juggle and make them disappear and had even once turned an apple into the fat, juicy orange she’d packed in her basket for him, although she still wasn’t quite sure how he’d done it.
“So what’s eating you, Red?”
She sighed, shrugged, and looked out at the people passing them on the street. Most just walked by and didn’t see them at all. Griff was good at getting people’s attention when he needed to, though. She glanced at him leaning back in his chair, hands behind his head. He looked casual, but she knew he was waiting for her answer. She wondered how old he was. Older than she was, certainly—she hadn’t even decided what college to go to when her parents had died—but not old.
No, not old. His face was unlined, but tanned from the sun, his eyes a bright, mischievous blue. His hair was cut nicely, his face shaved, his clothes clean, although his shoes were rather shabby looking and his hat, a fat little black cap, had seen better days. He was quite handsome, really, although she didn’t think he knew it, and he wasn’t a small man. His shoulders were broad and full under his button-down shirt and suspenders.
“It’s my grandmother,” Mae finally confessed, contemplating her tomato. She ate them like most people ate apples, and Griff still teased her about it, saying he should start selling tomatoes for her on his cart. “She wants us to move away.”
The legs of Griff’s chair came down slowly. “Away? Where?”
“She’s not well.” Mae decided against the tomato, tucking it back into the basket, seeing the white paper bag inside. “It’s her heart. The doctor says she’s got too much stress here in the city. Says she needs to get away.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, frowning. “I’m sure you’ll miss her.”
Mae glanced at him again, meeting his eyes only briefly. “Well that’s the thing. She wants me to go with her.”
“Oh.” The word was barely a breath.
“I’m really doing okay by myself,” she assured him, as if he’d given some protest. “I have the insurance settlement from my parents’ accident. It’s more than enough for me to live on. But my grandmother…” Mae glanced down, smoothing her skirt over her knees. “She can’t stop talking about finding me a husband.”
Griff nodded. “Pretty girl like you should probably have one,” he agreed.
She smiled shyly, picking lint off her skirt. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind. If it was the right one.”
He raised an eyebrow in her direction. “Did you have someone in mind?”
She felt herself blushing and looked away.
“Hey, Mae…” He knew her real name, but he hardly ever used it. The sound of it thrilled her. “I was wondering… would you like to go to a picture with me?”
“Which one?” She held her breath as if the answer really mattered.
“King Kong,” he replied and she smiled. Of course. It was all anyone could talk about. “It opens tonight.”
She wondered if he could see the stars in her eyes. “I’d love to.”
“Really?” He sounded almost as surprised by her assent as she’d been by his question.
She knew she was breathless, but she couldn’t help it. “When?”
“Tonight? I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Here.” She pulled a pencil and a receipt out of the little purse hidden at the bottom of the basket, writing down her address and apartment number. Now he knew where she lived and the thought made her feel a little lightheaded. “I should go. My grandmother will be waiting.”
She pressed the piece of paper into his hand and it closed around hers. His touch was like fire.
“Tonight.”
She smiled, closing her basket and slinging it over her arm. “I can’t wait.” Which was the truth. Seven o’clock was only four hours away, and she wanted to get home so she could torture herself over what to wear.
“See ya, Red,” he called as she walked away.
She couldn’t remember how she got to her grandmother’s. She thought maybe she flew. The walk was blocks and blocks but she didn’t see any of the usual scenery, didn’t stop at the other street vendors or delight in the performers. She didn’t see or hear anything but Griff and that bright light in his eyes when she’d said, “Yes,” didn’t feel anything but his hand swallowing hers.
That’s probably why she didn’t see Lionel until he grabbed her arm, catching her up short, causing her to gasp and look up in alarm. She was in a much better neighborhood now, nearing Central Park West where her grandmother’s apartment overlooked the city, but she was always worried about “getting snatched,” as her grandmother phrased it. In her new clothes, with her hair styled, she practically made herself a target. Which was, of course, why her grandmother kept telling her she needed to move in, and another reason she insisted they move away from the city altogether. “It’s too dangerous a place for wealthy people to reside,” her grandmother had decided.
“Lionel!” She recognized him immediately, feeling a connection to home she hadn’t even realized she’d been missing. She could suddenly see her father’s office from her usual vantage point under the desk, smell the sharp, dark ink he used to sign his contracts and the pipe he smoked when he was deep in thought. Her father was a rancher, but he also singlehandedly ran eight of the biggest slaughterhouses in the Midwest. He’d made his own fortune, although she’d never been spoiled like most children with rich parents. Granted, she hadn’t really wanted for anything, but her life with her parents on their ranch didn’t speak of great wealth.
She’d spent lots of time playing and reading in the kneehole of her father’s desk—until she got too big to fit, and then she would loll around in the fat, black leather armchair, wearing dungarees with hay in her hair and her nose in a book, while her father talked on the telephone about cows and pigs and chickens or railed about the unions. Occasionally people would come into the office to talk to him. One of those people had been Lionel Tryst.
“Well, Maeve Eileen Verges!” he exclaimed, sweeping his hat off his head and bowing low. The gesture wasn’t as foreign to her as it once had been, but it still made her want to giggle. That, along with hearing her full name, made the moment even more surreal. She’d been named after her grandmother, a family name passed on, but no one ever said it out loud. “What a pleasure to find you in New York!”
“How are you?” she inquired, slowly extracting herself from the man as they walked—he was still holding her arm, a little too familiarly for her liking. “I haven’t seen you since…”
He nodded sympathetically. “I’m so sorry about your loss, Mae. Your parents were wonderful people.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat that always rose whenever anyone mentioned them. “Thank you.”
“So what are you doing here in the big city?”
“My grandmother.” She nodded at the building they were now standing in front of. “She lives in the penthouse.”
“In the Century building?” Lionel gave a low whistle, squinting as he looked upward. “That’s an expensive piece of real estate.”
Mae laughed. “I thought you were in the insurance business?”
“I’m a jack of all trades.” He grinned. “I just sold an apartment in the Majestic for five thousand a year.”
Mae gasped. “It’s amazing anyone can afford that nowadays!”
“With great collapse comes great opportunity.” He winked. “You let me know if your grandmother is looking to sell. I’d be happy to find her a buyer. In fact, I talked to someone just last week who was asking me about the penthouse in the Century.”
“Really?” She hesitated. Her grandmother had been so ill, and part of that, she knew, was living in the city. Fresh air would do her good. But the truth was, as much as Mae missed the country herself, there was now an even bigger reason for her to want to stay. Griff had just asked her for a date! But as much as she wanted to just bid Lionel a quick goodbye, in spite of his connections to home, she knew she had to do the right thing. “Actually, she’s been trying to sell it for a few months now, but in this market…”
“Is that so?” Lionel’s eyes widened in surprise. “Well, muffin, what say you and me go pay your grandmother a little visit?”
The doorman at the Century knew Mae and he let her up with Lionel without question. They chatted in the elevator about Nebraska, and Mae inquired about mutual acquaintances. She’d left her best friend, Irene, just as the girls were planning to find a college to attend together. Lionel said Irene had gone on to some art school in California, but Mae couldn’t even imagine it.
“Grandmother?” Mae knocked and then slipped the key into the lock when no one answered, opening the door at the end of the hall. The entire top floor was hers, but it was sectioned off, and her grandmother only lived in part of it. She opened up the other wings only when she had guests or entertained. The foyer was open and there was a large living area with a fireplace almost as tall as she was and hardwood floors her grandmother had covered with ornate rugs. The dining room to the left showcased a gorgeous oak table underneath a chandelier so heavy Mae often wondered how it stayed secured to the ceiling.
“I’m in the kitchen, dearest!”
Mae smiled at the sound of her grandmother’s voice, motioning Lionel to follow. In spite of the fact that Mae hadn’t even known the woman existed before a few months ago, she’d grown quite fond of her in the time they’d spent together, and it seemed the reverse was also true.
Mae found the old woman stirring a cup of tea and she wondered at that, frowning. Usually her grandmother had plenty of help—two maids to clean and a butler to answer the door, as well as a nurse who came in once a day just to check. Her grandmother rarely lifted a finger to do anything for herself. She didn’t have to, and she seemed to like it that way.
“Where’s John?” Mae inquired after the butler, kissing her grandmother’s cheek, catching the scent of lavender and rose water. The old woman’s skin was as soft and thin as the Kleenex Mae used to take cold cream off her face at night.
“I gave everyone the night off.” Her grandmother smiled as she turned to face her granddaughter, her eyes still bright, although her face was heavily lined. She was always impeccably dressed, still wearing heels, even at her age. “I have a surprise for you.” The woman’s eyes widened as she saw the stranger standing in her doorway. “And who’s this?”
“Oh, this is Lionel.” Mae smiled at him as he swept his hat off and bowed low. “Lionel Tryst. He worked for my father back home. Lionel, this is my grandmother, the first Maeve Eileen Verges.”
“So pleased to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Verges.”
Mae noticed that Lionel’s manners had already won her grandmother over, which was probably a good thing. If he had a buyer for the penthouse, that would go a long way toward getting it sold more quickly. Although she wasn’t sure anymore if that was a good thing. But she couldn’t deny that meeting Lionel right out front of her grandmother’s building had to be some sort of sign. It was too much of a strange coincidence not to mean something.
“He thinks he may have a buyer for your apartment,” Mae explained, taking the old woman’s elbow as she started toward the doorway.
“Oh that would be wonderful!” The old woman glanced up at Lionel as he flanked her on the other side, also taking her elbow as they made their way to the living room. “How did you know my son, Mr. Tryst?”
“He was a business associate,” Lionel explained as they settled themselves. “A finer man I’ve never met.”
Her grandmother beamed at his praise of her son and Mae couldn’t help smiling. The old woman got teary eyed every time his name was mentioned. She’d missed so many years of his life, and all of Mae’s up until now, just because she couldn’t stand the woman he’d married. Mae’s mother had been, as her grandmother politely put it, “Not of the same social stature” as Mae’s father. She’d never known her father had come from old money, or that her mother had been born poor and was just a young tennis instructor he met at summer camp his senior year.
There had been a great deal about her parents she didn’t know, she realized now. It didn’t make her love them any less, but it did make her sad, for all of them, at the time they’d missed. Her grandmother had changed her mind and had tried, many times she’d said, over the years, to reconcile, but Mae’s father was a stubborn man. He refused to return her calls and wouldn’t let her see her own granddaughter.
Of course, after the accident, her father hadn’t had a say in Mae’s life anymore, and when her grandmother had contacted her, asking her to come to New York, she’d gone in a haze of grief, looking for any connection she could find to her dead parents.
Now she couldn’t have been more glad she’d made that decision.
“Where are my manners?” her grandmother exclaimed. “Lionel, would you like something to drink? Something a little stronger than tea, perhaps?” The old woman’s eyes brightened as she looked at the younger man.
Lionel raised his eyebrows. “Now, Mrs. Verges, you have heard about prohibition, haven’t you?”
“Oh indeed, but there are ways around it, Mr. Tryst, if the price is right.” She winked and Mae swore she actually giggled before taking a sip of her tea.
“I’m sure that’s true.” He chuckled. “But thanks all the same.”
“You have alcohol, Grandma?” Mae looked at her in mock disapproval.
The older Maeve primly sipped her tea. “It’s medicinal.”
Mae met Lionel’s eyes and they both hid a smile.
“Speaking of medicine…” Mae opened her basket and removed the white bag. “The pharmacist said to tell you hello.”
“Oh good!” Her grandmother plucked the bag up, peering inside. “I’m sure I’m going to need these tonight.”
Mae laughed. “Why? What are you planning?” The pills were nitroglycerin for her grandmother’s angina, and she only used them when she was having an episode, which was usually when she got really excited—or angry.
“Your surprise!” The old woman glanced between the two of them, her gaze speculative. “And of course, you’re welcome to join us, Mr. Tryst.”
“How kind of you.” Lionel smiled, leaning back in the chair and glancing at Mae. She blinked, looking between the man and her grandmother.
“I normally hate crowds, but I’m making an exception.” The older Maeve smiled at her granddaughter. “We’re going to the movie premiere of King Kong!”
Lionel sat up, eyes widening. “The movie premiere?”
“Radio City?” Mae gulped, already knowing, with a sick, sinking feeling in her belly, that she was trapped.
And there proved to be no way to get around it. She tried, several different ways, to find an excuse to have to go back home, but her grandmother wasn’t having it. She had a new outfit for Mae to wear, so she couldn’t say she had to go home to change. And while begging off as ill crossed her mind, she knew how disappointed her grandmother would be.
So she changed into her new dress—Lionel’s eyebrows went up when she made her entrance and she flushed, thanking him for his compliments—and continued to make small talk until it was time to go, all the while thinking that there was no way to let Griff know she wouldn’t be at her apartment when he came to pick her up. She could imagine his reaction, but she didn’t want to think about him knocking and knocking…
The driver held open the door to the Roll’s-Royce limousine for her, but Mae barely saw him. She couldn’t think about anything but Griff. Would they pass his corner on the way to Radio City? She didn’t think she could bear it. She turned her face way from the window and responded to something Lionel said with just a smile.
“You’re so distracted.” Her grandmother patted her knee and Mae tried to fight the tears threatening. She wanted to tell her about Griff, just come clean and tell her the truth—but how could she? Her grandmother had disowned her own son for less. How could she possibly ever accept a man who not only didn’t have any money or a pedigree, but one who peddled apples on the street corner?
“Just excited,” she assured her, covering the old woman’s hand with hers. Lionel sat across from the two of them, chatting away, something about the new subway system, and it was easy to tune him out.
“Oh goodness, look at that line!” The old woman gasped. “I can’t possibly wait in that!”
Mae looked out the window and saw it stretching down the side of the building. So many people!
“Leave it to me.” Lionel told the driver to stop at the entrance and let him off. Mae and her grandmother stayed in the car, watching as he went into the building, pushing past the rest of the crowd.
“What is he up to?” her grandmother murmured, but it wasn’t long before they found out. Lionel returned, waving three tickets as he helped Mae’s grandmother out of the car.
“How did you do that?” Mae asked as he led them in front of the crowd, guiding each of them by an elbow.
“You just have to know the right people.” He shrugged. “These are box seats, by the way. We’re up here.” He showed the tickets to a man in a red suit, who escorted them up a flight of stairs.
“My goodness!” Mae’s grandmother exclaimed as Lionel helped her into a seat. The box overlooked the entire theater as it filled with people. From this angle, Mae thought they might just be right on eye-level with the giant ape!
“This is quite a surprise!” Her grandmother sounded like a young girl and Mae couldn’t help smiling.
“So a surprise for your granddaughter turns out to be a surprise for you too,” Lionel said as he slipped in beside Mae. He leaned over to whisper in her ear. “You look lovely enough to eat.”
His words made her flush, and she murmured something that resembled a thank you, although she wasn’t quite sure that either his comment or her answer were appropriate. But her grandmother was sitting beside her and she couldn’t protest without drawing attention to herself. What she wanted to do was melt into the seat and disappear. Well, that wasn’t entirely true—what she really wanted was to be here with Griff, down there on the floor amidst the rest of the crowd, pressed far too close together and warm.
Instead she was sitting next to Lionel Tryst, who kept whispering compliments that made her blush, his knee coming far too close to hers as the lights in the theater went down. There was a stage show prior to the picture—something about jungles. She wasn’t paying too much attention, because Lionel’s hand had moved from his knee to hers.
By the time the movie started, Lionel’s hand had moved to her thigh. Mae shifted in her seat and crossed her legs, hoping to give him a strong enough hint. She leaned away from him toward her grandmother to ask if she was cold—up here the theater did seem a little chilly—and stayed as far from him as she could in her seat.
Thankfully, he didn’t touch her again, but while that situation had improved, now she had time to think about Griff. He was supposed to be here beside her, whispering and joking and making her giggle. And when the giant ape appeared and killed the snake, she wanted it to be Griff’s hand she grabbed, not Lionel’s—she couldn’t help herself, the scene made her hide her face against his suit coat in terror—and when the poor creature tumbled from the top of the Empire State Building, she wanted it to be Griff’s handkerchief she used to wipe her tears, not Lionel’s.
“What a picture!” Mae’s grandmother dabbed her eyes with her own handkerchief as the lights came up, the crowd below buzzing with excitement. Mae handed Lionel’s handkerchief back to him as they walked down the stairs, making their way toward the car. The driver had been waiting down the street for them to appear and he swung the door wide, sweeping them all in.
“What did you think of the movie?” Lionel inquired, looking at Mae from his seat across from her. He was still too close, his knees touching hers.
She blinked at him, wishing it was Griff asking that question. With him, she could be honest, and she knew he would be too. So instead of tackling the racism inherent in the film, or even the implied eroticism, which was an even more dangerous topic, she just murmured, “Fay Wray is very beautiful.”
“Not nearly as lovely as you, my dear,” he responded.
Mae’s grandmother smiled approvingly, glancing between the two of them, and Mae inwardly groaned. She knew that look. It was her grandmother’s, “I have to find this girl a husband” look and more specifically her, “I think I’ve just found a prospect!” gaze. Lionel was a kind man, and while he did remind her of home, if she’d been interested in him, she would have responded to his advances back on the ranch when her parents were alive.
Of course, her grandmother didn’t know that, and she began to question him in earnest about his parents, his employment, his general status and character. At least it kept Mae from having to talk. She watched the city lights go by and thought about Griff. She hope she could repair her jilting him tonight, make it up to him somehow. Maybe they could have a picnic in the park?
“You two run off and play.” Her grandmother patted her hand and winked over at Lionel as the car pulled up in front of the Century building. “This old lady needs her rest. But my driver will take you anywhere you want to go.”
Mae’s heart sank.
“That’s very generous of you.” Lionel opened the door, helping her grandmother out of the car before the driver could, and Mae took the opportunity, grabbing her red wool coat off the seat and slipping out the door behind them.
“Grandmother, I’m going to walk home.” She leaned over and kissed the old woman’s cheek. “I need some fresh air.”
“You can’t walk home alone this late at night!” her grandmother protested, but Mae waved her response away, already walking.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Verges,” Mae heard Lionel respond. “I’ll see she gets home safely.”
He caught up with her in just a few strides and she didn’t protest when he fell into step beside her. It really wasn’t safe to walk at night, she knew, but she couldn’t bear the thought of being cooped up in a car with Lionel and spending the night fending off his advances.
The air was cool and she shivered, stopping to put her coat on, and Lionel helped her. She let him. They walked in silence for a while, until Mae couldn’t stand it anymore.
“So do you really think you’ll find a buyer for my grandmother’s apartment?” she inquired politely as they rounded the corner. The city looked very different at night. The terrain changed, becoming hazy, as if seen through a veil.
“I believe so.” His response was short and she had a feeling he was angry with her—probably for rebuffing him in the theater. That made her relent a little and she glanced up at him as they walked.