A Sisterhood of Secret Ambitions, page 5
But we didn’t use such language.
“Thank you, my sweet friends,” Iris said, her eyes sparkling. “I’m poso-lutely gobsmacked, to be completely honest. I thought they would have sent Vera or Edith! Someone older and more experienced.” She shook her shoulders in glee. “But I’m so glad it’s me. Oh, and I wanted to tell you! Elizabeth’s mother is going to be all right. Her fever broke, and the Gossips have included her in their watch-care list.”
I sat back. “Good. I’m so glad they got my message.”
“I’m glad you sent one,” Bea said. The side of her lip dipped down quickly.
I opened the vanity drawers and fiddled around inside. They had left us a comb and hair clips. I took some pins and started waving my hair. “I’m glad we could watch out for her. Those retired society women deserve so much of our kindness. Especially when they’re all alone. I…” I pinned a curl back. If it wasn’t just Bea and Iris, I might have stopped there, but they were as big of romantics as I was. “I wonder if there are any sweet old men we can set her up with once she’s recovered.”
“Oh, can we play a game of Matchmaker?” Bea asked with a grin.
“I’m in. But we’d be looking for a woman, actually,” Iris answered.
I glanced over.
“I had a similar thought.” Iris bit her lip. “The Gossips told me the partner who just passed away was a sweet old woman. The poor little bunny.”
I returned to my pinning. “Who can we net in? One of the retired Spinsters perhaps?”
Iris’s cheeks were glowing. “I was thinking Janie.”
I gasped. Our dear trainer. She’d just retired herself. “That would be perfect.”
Bea cooed and clapped her hands. “We’ll have to start some Matchmaking schemes when we get back.” She looked away. “I mean when one of us gets back.”
It wasn’t going to be me. Least I hoped it wouldn’t be me. But somehow I’d forgotten that that meant my friends would leave disappointed.
“Don’t worry. I set a few plans in motion before I left.” Iris tucked some hair behind her ears as she lost her smile. “It’s strange to think that if this goes well, I won’t be coming back home for a while. At least not as a Spinster. I’ll stay with whichever one of you wins the priority one. Go to college with you. Then follow your new family around during campaigns. And then I’ll move close to the White House.” She shook her head. “It’s so strange that the next forty-some-odd years could be set now. If I can just keep you all safe. If I can help…” When Iris looked at me her eyes were wet with tears. “I can’t … I can’t believe they chose me.”
“Of course they chose you,” Bea said. “You’re so strong and smart and kind.”
“We trust you completely,” I said. But still something about her future life being so set in stone, but set back in the shadows behind one of us didn’t sit right with me. I leaned forward. “But don’t you want a life of your own?”
Iris shook her head and her hair brushed her cheeks. “Honey, this is my life,” she said. “What we do for women and families in need, and for girls like me? I want to be doing this for my whole life. It’s lonely out there without our society. Isolating. Being someone different, never knowing who I could trust with my real self, never knowing if someone might try to hurt me for being who I am. But this society taught me how to fight back, it gave me vocal coaches, and gave me access to some of the most incredible patternmakers. And it gave me all of you, and so many people who will fight at my side. This society gave me so many sisters and friends. All I want is to work with one of you dear girls to make positive change for kids who don’t have this society. We’re going to make a better future, if I have to punch the present into submission.”
I reached for her hand and squeezed. “I know we will.”
Bea nodded. She held her bag to her lap like a pillow.
“How are you doing with all of this, Bea?” I asked.
“Honestly, I’m excited.” Her face lit up with a smile. “I think I have less pressure than the rest of you. There’s no way he’s going to choose me. I’m only sixteen and a half years old.” She lowered her voice. “I’m not ready for marriage.”
“Neither am I,” I admitted. “And neither probably is he. He’s only eighteen. But it’s always a long engagement. We wouldn’t actually be married until we’re both eighteen or nineteen at the youngest.”
“It’s still so young,” Iris said. “I don’t hardly remember what I was doing at nineteen, and that was only four years ago.”
We leaned into one another as the truck stopped.
A moment later, Mira slipped around the painted canvas, lugging a pair of plants with long leafy spines, that scattered dirt as she slid them under the benches. Then she leaped onto the velvet bench with her hands held out as if she were sliding down a snowcapped hill. “Hello, you gorgeous dames, who’s ready for an adventure?”
I laughed.
“Oh you know I’m in,” Iris said.
It did feel like one of our escapades. When we charmed Livingston, the four of us had run off in the middle of the night and hopped onto a train to the next stop over. And then we held on to the back of a bakery truck through dawn. We barely made it back to slip into our beds before the Matron knocked to wake us. We didn’t have a destination in mind that time. We just wanted the journey. Or the time before that, when we were charming George Weston, we’d escaped to watch a vaudeville show, only to find the show we’d hidden in the back of was a burlesque, and our giggles got us kicked out by a woman who wore a painted mole and not much else.
The truck door slammed, and the engine started.
“Bea doesn’t think he’ll choose her,” I tattled.
Mira sat down in a leap. “You take that back. You are a stunning, lovely, brilliant woman. Anyone would be happy to have you.”
“And you all as well,” Bea said.
“Don’t we know it,” I shouted.
“Bully for us!” Iris said. We all laughed, and then nearly as one, our laughter softened into a silence we all tried to ignore. All of our futures hung like a question in the air. And as much as we built each other up, not one of us knew if we’d be able to secure this.
“I’m glad we’re all together,” Bea said, breaking the silence. “Poor Greta doesn’t have you all as her support.”
“Didn’t you see her glaring at her friends?” Mira made a face. “I think she was trying to make them give up their chances.”
“We’ll support her through this,” I inserted for Bea’s sake. “It’s a mission. Our vows say we need to play fair, and help each other.”
“I do feel kind of bad for her,” Bea said. “We have each other, but she’s all alone. But you’re right. She has an equal chance at winning him.” She shrugged one shoulder.
“Bea you are such a tender heart,” Iris said. “But I’m here for all of you girls, including Greta. I don’t play favorites.”
“That’s a lie.” Mira said.
“Okay fine, Greta’s my favorite.” Iris said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Bea didn’t smile. I swallowed hard. “I’m sorry if I made you stay on. If this isn’t what you want, I’m sure the Matrons will support you if you choose to go home.”
“No,” Bea said. “I’m here, and I’m excited. I can’t wait to be somewhere my little sisters aren’t stealing my old clothes and a Davy and Michael aren’t yelling over some jacks or little Suzie doesn’t need me to read to her while her little sticky fingers brush my cheek so softly.” She cleared her throat. “I mean I’m grateful to come along. And I’m grateful for the mission pay. This priority means twice the monthly allowance, and after my father hurt his leg, my family needs the money now more than ever.”
Mira’s shoulders pressed back. “Don’t worry, Elsie. You didn’t force us to come. And don’t think I’m going to go easy on you. I’ve got even higher marks on charming than you do.”
“And I happen to know my cookies will make any man fall in love,” Bea said.
“So that’s what we’re calling them now,” Iris said with an arched eyebrow.
I cackled as Bea shimmied her massive chest.
The truck stopped again, and we settled a little. Mira shoved her bony behind on the bench between the two of us.
The undercarriage boomed as luggage was packed in beneath us, and then another bag slipped behind the painted screen. One suitcase. Then another. Then another. And finally Greta climbed in, holding a plate of truffles I know she didn’t make herself and giving us all a smile I’d seen graded and judged.
“Isn’t it exciting?” Greta said with a polished charm I knew better than to trust. She placed the plate of truffles on the bench next to us. Then she turned her back to us and the chocolates, opened her handbag, and began powdering her face in the mirror. “Priority one. Positively berries.”
Mira glanced at the tiny painted balls of deliciousness. Bea and I shook our heads in warning. I didn’t trust those truffles for a second. Of course I didn’t think they were poisoned, Greta would never go that far, but maybe she happened to use an ingredient that had “accidentally” spoiled and then we’d spend our first meeting fighting a rumble in our stomach.
“It’s a long drive,” I said. “Perhaps we should figure out how we’re going to sleep back here.”
The screen opened, and someone slid in a stack of papers with a photo of a teenage boy clipped to the top.
The dossier was here.
“Or not,” Bea said.
The back doors closed and locked. Mira dived for the papers, and Greta took off after her, just an instant behind as they tussled over them.
I stood. “There’s plenty of time,” I said. “No need to fight. Let’s share notes. Compare strategies. We need to treat this like we would any other priority assignment. We work together, and we let him make his choice.”
“Fine,” Greta said as she took the dossier and held it to her chest. “But I’m reading first.”
“Age before beauty,” Mira said as she sat back down.
Iris pressed her lips tight as Greta glared, her pouty bottom lip trembling for a second. I knew Mira’s barb had hit its mark.
The truck started, and we all swayed as it turned again, this time toward the highway.
Greta studied the photograph carefully and then tucked it away with the blank side toward us as she moved on to the next page, like we all weren’t dying to see what he looked like. Any sympathy I’d begun to gather for her floated away. She was insufferable.
“What do you think he’s like?” Bea asked.
“Stuffy and boring like Livingston,” Mira said, rustling a blanket from her bag and wrapping it around her shoulders. She bent down to make sure her plants were well settled.
I pressed my lips together. “I liked Livingston.”
“You would,” Greta said. “What did you always go on and on with him about, the life cycle of ants?”
“That was one conversation.” He was a scientist who valued intelligence in his partner. Our friend Nora snagged him, and she has the most remarkable mind. Such a good pair.
“That went on for hours.” Greta complained, but I’d liked trying to charm someone who let me be smart.
Mira made a face as she sat down on Greta’s side of the truck. “Least he didn’t kiss like Mr. Weston.”
Greta snorted and then came after Mira with her mouth wide open. I laughed when Mira shoved her over.
“Was George Weston a bad kisser?” Bea asked. “He was so young and handsome.”
Greta and I shared a look, but I decided to be diplomatic. “Kissing is a skill that can be taught to improve.”
Greta smiled at me, despite herself, and then she handed me the photo. Mira scooted forward and Bea leaned into my side to study it.
Andrew Shaw was handsome enough, in a boy-next-door kind of a way, with light brown hair that scooped to one side, circle wire-rimmed glasses, and tan skin with a layer of padding that made it clear he’d never been one to miss a supper. There was intelligence in his expression, or a sense of concern, as if he were secretly wondering if I needed any help.
He looked like the kind of man I’d want to vote for.
But did that mean I found him attractive?
Mira bit her lip like she hid a similar question, but Bea was staring at the photo with her eyes and pupils wide, a soft smile tipping the corner of her lips, her cheeks pink and glowing.
She closed her eyes tight. “What if he’s mean?” Bea asked with sudden energy. “What if he has an angry streak that the Gossips missed; what if—”
“—Don’t worry,” Iris interrupted. “You’re not forced into anything here. And the society isn’t going away. They’ll support you if he turns out to be a disappointment.”
“I’m more worried that I will be the disappointment,” Bea said. “There’s no chance for me here. I’m the youngest, the plumpest, the poorest…”
I grabbed her hand. “Plump is not a weakness.”
I hoped.
Mira took Bea’s other hand. “It’s not.”
Greta took my other hand. “It’s really not,” she said, though I knew her well enough to know this was a tactic to try to make us trust her, and not something she stood behind as strongly as she should.
Still, for a second, we faced one another, our gaze and our responsibilities shared. I took in the line of Greta’s nose, the length of Mira’s neck, the steady confidence in Iris’s gaze, and the unmasked terror hiding behind Bea’s expression. These girls, each one of them, were my family. And even a priority one wouldn’t change that.
I wrapped an arm around Bea’s shoulder and tugged her in tight to my side. “Maybe he’ll be more than a handsome fellow,” I said. “Like a lost prince raised in America, clever and likable, and maybe, Bea, when he sees you for the very first time, he’ll forget how to speak because you, beautiful lovely you, are the most precious dream of a girl, and you will have all the right words, and all the right smiles, and by the end of this summer we’ll be planning your engagement party. We’ll be laughing and waving you off as you go find your happy ever after.”
Bea leaned against my shoulder. It was easy to tell this story for her, but as much as I wanted it, I still couldn’t see myself on that road with my hand held by this stranger, waving goodbye to my friends.
My friends had always been here for me. Sometimes they were the only ones who saw me. And by the end of the summer, if everything went to plan, I’d be leaving them. I’ve always known the end of our friendship would come eventually, but now it would be here before September.
“What did you all pack?” I asked quickly to not get stuck in my feelings.
Greta spoke up first. “Three new haute couture dresses, a Schiaparelli sweater, and cologne made with sheep pheromones. The saleswoman said it was scientifically proven to net a man.”
Goodness. How on earth could I compete against that? “You really want to win this one, then?”
“I always do. That’s the problem.” She turned around, her hands clasped in her lap. Her expression softened. “I fall in love too easily I guess. And the men always want to kiss me, but they always choose somebody else to make their bride.”
“Men are the worst,” Iris said. “I have been in that position so many times. But why don’t they just find a girl they like and commit. It’s not like it’s hard.”
“It’s not,” Mira said. “It’s science. There are steps and tricks and words you can say to get them to commit.”
“Words you will teach me?” Iris asked with a flair of the hand.
“Of course!” Bea said quickly.
I was still watching Greta. She stilled, like she was waiting for our attention to swing back toward her. That restraint was how I knew this sudden show of vulnerability was a tactic.
“You know what I’ve been wondering, though?” Greta’s eyes were dreamy, her smile engulfing. “All those times before when I had my heart smashed into itty-bitty pieces, what if it was because I’ve been saved for this one?”
We didn’t answer. I’d seen Greta hide tears before on the drives home after we weren’t chosen. I knew her truth as she said it.
Which didn’t mean it still wasn’t an attempt to charm us.
It’s strange to think how the steps to charm a person into a romance was simply a psychological manipulation. I didn’t like thinking that way. Love was romantic and magical, like a fairy tale. But what we did was plotted. It was like a recipe really, and if you combined the right steps, baked at the right temperature, and included the same ingredients, then the cake came out the same every time.
And for a second, I really analyzed the ingredients the society had put into this charm. They’d given this choice to four white girls, and gave the priority to a white man. I knew that part of the decision of who to give a priority future to would depend on the ability to win an election, that there were places in this country that wouldn’t accept anyone who wasn’t their certain image of an ideal. I knew that we had to work with the world the way that it was in order to create change in our future.
But I couldn’t help but wonder if all this work, this opportunity I was so hopeful for, wasn’t just an attempt to maintain a status quo that set one race above all the others.
And worst of all, I knew that even if it did, I was too ambitious to ever turn it down. That for all my speeches on inequality, I wasn’t going to turn down something I knew they weren’t giving to other Wives-to-be from different races. And now, even as the storm in my thoughts wouldn’t stop berating me for that, my friends were talking about flirtations and admiring the length of Andrew’s eyelashes.
These were the girls I loved more than anyone in the world, and I felt so alone. They seemed safe and warm, and I was being rained on.
Greta wiped under her nose. “So what did you bring, Bea?”
“I…” She glanced at me, her eyes concerned. I put on a soft smile and she continued. “I mostly brought cakes, to tell you the truth. I found a few new recipes, and you know what they say about the way to a man’s heart, don’t you?”
