darling." She reaches out for my lipstick to add still more. Her face looms over me, and her eyes hang big as saucers.
"Besides, they don't want old marrieds along, believe me."
"I'm sure we'd be glad for the company," I say, blotting with the handkerchief she holds out to me. "The more the merrier."
"I'd like to meet this Standish guy," my brother says suddenly.
"Have him in for a drink."
Alice shakes her head and slides back into his lap. "Easy, Judge Hardy. You're not her father, after all. You'll meet him soon enough.
Besides, doesn't Lora want some privacy? Some life separate from family."
She looks at me as she says it, and there is a wistfulness there, a kind wistfulness that, despite everything, I find myself warming to, and secretly thanking her for.
Two hours later, this:
Die a Little -- 45 --
"I could tell you stories, honey." Mike Standish smiles. "Stories to make Fatty Arbuckle blush. The four-o'clock-in-the-morning calls I've gotten, the places I've had to peel them off of the floor, the circus freaks I've had to pay off to keep these little discretions, these quaint peccadilloes out of the papers."
"You sound proud of yourself."
"As they say, life is too short to bother with Puritan hypocrisies.
Besides, it's not me racking up time in the booth with Father McConnell. I just clean up," he says, still smiling, rubbing his hands together as if to wash them.
"My grandmother would have called those devil's dues," I say noncommittally, removing the maraschino from the bottom of my drink.
"Your grandmother didn't know what she was missing." He winks, cuff links flashing in the soft light, summoning the waiter over for another round.
A few days later, as I arrive to help Alice make cookies for the senior banquet, I see that Lois Slattery is back again. I take a chair as Alice fusses over the moon and star shapes. The cookie cutter, in her frustration, keeps slipping from her hand.
"Lois, if you get one cigarette ash near these cookies, I'm going to tear your hair out."
"Better men than you have tried," Lois slurs, unaccountably nodding to me before leaning back in her chair.
"I just don't have the patience today." Alice sighs, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
"Can't the blue bird scouts or whoever manage with store-bought?"
"No, no." Alice's crimson-tipped fingers steady themselves and she manages to get the first perfectly cut star safely onto the sheet.
Lois turns and looks at me. "She gave up Tinseltown for this."
"What a sacrifice," Alice says with a faint smile. "I saw enough of the business from my mother to know where it gets you. I didn't even want to end up working for the studios, but who would turn down union wages?"
I nod, as she seems to want affirmation.
"Still," she adds, "it was a rotten job, running measuring tape over starlets all day."
"That was how we met," Lois says, eyeing me.
Alice, intently at work, raises her hand to Lois to ensure silence as she lifts a pair of moonbeam cookies onto the sheet.
Lois bends forward again with a deep red smile. "You know what that looks like?"
Die a Little -- 46 --
Alice looks at Lois expressionlessly but with a firm lock of the eyes.
Lois breaks the gaze and turns to me. "Do you recognize it, Loreli?"
"I guess that'd be a moonbeam, no?"
"Does it remind you of anything?"
"No," I say, feeling like the girl at school who was never let in on the game.
"Relating to a certain brother darling?" Lois waves her cigarette over the cookie and then toward the kitchen door. Alice stares motionless.
"Pardon?"
"You know. I can't say I've seen it myself, but... the scar, doll."
"Oh, the scar from his accident," I say, trying not to picture the horrible night of the assault. The scar came from the sharp edge of the radiator when he fell after the baseball bat blows from the young suspect. It is right above his hip.
"I haven't seen it since the hospital," I add. "I suppose I've never seen it as a scar. Only as a wound." I feel my
"Besides, they don't want old marrieds along, believe me."
"I'm sure we'd be glad for the company," I say, blotting with the handkerchief she holds out to me. "The more the merrier."
"I'd like to meet this Standish guy," my brother says suddenly.
"Have him in for a drink."
Alice shakes her head and slides back into his lap. "Easy, Judge Hardy. You're not her father, after all. You'll meet him soon enough.
Besides, doesn't Lora want some privacy? Some life separate from family."
She looks at me as she says it, and there is a wistfulness there, a kind wistfulness that, despite everything, I find myself warming to, and secretly thanking her for.
Two hours later, this:
Die a Little -- 45 --
"I could tell you stories, honey." Mike Standish smiles. "Stories to make Fatty Arbuckle blush. The four-o'clock-in-the-morning calls I've gotten, the places I've had to peel them off of the floor, the circus freaks I've had to pay off to keep these little discretions, these quaint peccadilloes out of the papers."
"You sound proud of yourself."
"As they say, life is too short to bother with Puritan hypocrisies.
Besides, it's not me racking up time in the booth with Father McConnell. I just clean up," he says, still smiling, rubbing his hands together as if to wash them.
"My grandmother would have called those devil's dues," I say noncommittally, removing the maraschino from the bottom of my drink.
"Your grandmother didn't know what she was missing." He winks, cuff links flashing in the soft light, summoning the waiter over for another round.
A few days later, as I arrive to help Alice make cookies for the senior banquet, I see that Lois Slattery is back again. I take a chair as Alice fusses over the moon and star shapes. The cookie cutter, in her frustration, keeps slipping from her hand.
"Lois, if you get one cigarette ash near these cookies, I'm going to tear your hair out."
"Better men than you have tried," Lois slurs, unaccountably nodding to me before leaning back in her chair.
"I just don't have the patience today." Alice sighs, wiping her face with the back of her hand.
"Can't the blue bird scouts or whoever manage with store-bought?"
"No, no." Alice's crimson-tipped fingers steady themselves and she manages to get the first perfectly cut star safely onto the sheet.
Lois turns and looks at me. "She gave up Tinseltown for this."
"What a sacrifice," Alice says with a faint smile. "I saw enough of the business from my mother to know where it gets you. I didn't even want to end up working for the studios, but who would turn down union wages?"
I nod, as she seems to want affirmation.
"Still," she adds, "it was a rotten job, running measuring tape over starlets all day."
"That was how we met," Lois says, eyeing me.
Alice, intently at work, raises her hand to Lois to ensure silence as she lifts a pair of moonbeam cookies onto the sheet.
Lois bends forward again with a deep red smile. "You know what that looks like?"
Die a Little -- 46 --
Alice looks at Lois expressionlessly but with a firm lock of the eyes.
Lois breaks the gaze and turns to me. "Do you recognize it, Loreli?"
"I guess that'd be a moonbeam, no?"
"Does it remind you of anything?"
"No," I say, feeling like the girl at school who was never let in on the game.
"Relating to a certain brother darling?" Lois waves her cigarette over the cookie and then toward the kitchen door. Alice stares motionless.
"Pardon?"
"You know. I can't say I've seen it myself, but... the scar, doll."
"Oh, the scar from his accident," I say, trying not to picture the horrible night of the assault. The scar came from the sharp edge of the radiator when he fell after the baseball bat blows from the young suspect. It is right above his hip.
"I haven't seen it since the hospital," I add. "I suppose I've never seen it as a scar. Only as a wound." I feel my
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