Read Online Other People We Married by Emma Straub - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Emma Straub
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room. As far as Jackie could tell, time had stopped and there was no other party on Earth, no other dinner, nothing that she cared about outside this room. She wanted to sit at the table and fill out her dance card with just one name over and over again:
Franny Gold
,
Franny Gold
,
Franny Gold
.
The table was close to the band, good seats. Mrs. Johnson had pearls in her ears and a pearl on her finger. Jackie’s own set was still strung around Franny’s neck, flat against her collarbones. All around the room, women were just as decked out. Jackie wondered how many pearls were in the ballroom, if there were more pearls than in a hundred miles of the Atlantic Ocean. The three women sat down simultaneously, like a ballet corps, moving individually but with the sense to do it in unison.
“So, Franny, sweetie,” Mrs. Johnson said. A waiter appeared behind her and put champagne glasses in front of them all, in between the gold chargers and the floral centerpieces with their dramatic spikes of red and white. Everything seemed native and wild. “Are there any boys up there at Barnard? Jackie never told us if you had a boyfriend.”
She could see Jackie’s neck, her cheeks, her chin. She could smell the kisses from two seats over. She wasn’t a mother, she was a bloodhound.
“Franny goes out with tons of boys, Mother,” Jackie said. “Tons. The Columbia Lions? All of them. The whole team.” She shook her head in mock disapproval. Franny’s dress hadcap sleeves; Jackie wondered if they were both sweating so much, or if it was just her.
“No,” Franny said, turning to face Mrs. Johnson. “No boys. At least not right now.”
There were boys at Columbia, boys who would call and call and call, but Jackie couldn’t picture any of their faces. She picked up her glass and held it high, her arm straight out and triumphant. “To Franny,” Jackie said, “the pearl of the sea!”
Jackie’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, Edward and Elizabeth, Ed and Bitsy, Bitsy and Bootsy, Bippity Bobbity Boo, everyone in the room seemed to raise their glass, and there was a booming inside Jackie’s chest that would have made the ocean turn green with envy. She and Franny danced with each other and with her parents and with people who looked like they were bored out of their minds. Franny talked about Newport as though she’d been there a hundred times and, really, it was just a matter of changing her address with the post office. Jackie talked to old men about their sailboats and old women about their dachshunds. When the party was winding down, Jackie’s parents toddled off to their room, and she and Franny ran for the beach with their shoes in their hands.
The hard, wet sand looked so dark against their bare feet, like city concrete. Jackie ran fifty yards in her dress, the hem hiked up around her waist with her white slip taut against her thighs. She pictured Franny on Broadway, all those boys fading into the background. When Jackie stopped running, the girls stood there for a moment and stared at each otherin the dark. Jackie could make out Franny’s hair, which was starting to frizz in the humidity, and her dress, puffy under her arms like a barrel. Her feet were still mostly clean; Jackie’s were speckled with sand and dirt. Above them, the Breakers looked like it had been carved out of a cloud, all smooth, all white. The ballroom was still lit up; the orchestra continued to play. Tired dancers could have walked to the window and seen them there, two ghost-girls. Jackie let go of her dress with one hand and waved, inviting Franny farther away from the line of vision.
But Franny didn’t move. What was down the beach? What would she do once she made it there? Jackie thought of the faceless boys on Broadway, and the way that Franny would have run to them, without even giving it a second thought, just because they were handsome and tall and exactly what she’d always imagined she would have. Jackie hadn’t imagined that, not
Franny Gold
,
Franny Gold
,
Franny Gold
.
The table was close to the band, good seats. Mrs. Johnson had pearls in her ears and a pearl on her finger. Jackie’s own set was still strung around Franny’s neck, flat against her collarbones. All around the room, women were just as decked out. Jackie wondered how many pearls were in the ballroom, if there were more pearls than in a hundred miles of the Atlantic Ocean. The three women sat down simultaneously, like a ballet corps, moving individually but with the sense to do it in unison.
“So, Franny, sweetie,” Mrs. Johnson said. A waiter appeared behind her and put champagne glasses in front of them all, in between the gold chargers and the floral centerpieces with their dramatic spikes of red and white. Everything seemed native and wild. “Are there any boys up there at Barnard? Jackie never told us if you had a boyfriend.”
She could see Jackie’s neck, her cheeks, her chin. She could smell the kisses from two seats over. She wasn’t a mother, she was a bloodhound.
“Franny goes out with tons of boys, Mother,” Jackie said. “Tons. The Columbia Lions? All of them. The whole team.” She shook her head in mock disapproval. Franny’s dress hadcap sleeves; Jackie wondered if they were both sweating so much, or if it was just her.
“No,” Franny said, turning to face Mrs. Johnson. “No boys. At least not right now.”
There were boys at Columbia, boys who would call and call and call, but Jackie couldn’t picture any of their faces. She picked up her glass and held it high, her arm straight out and triumphant. “To Franny,” Jackie said, “the pearl of the sea!”
Jackie’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Johnson, Edward and Elizabeth, Ed and Bitsy, Bitsy and Bootsy, Bippity Bobbity Boo, everyone in the room seemed to raise their glass, and there was a booming inside Jackie’s chest that would have made the ocean turn green with envy. She and Franny danced with each other and with her parents and with people who looked like they were bored out of their minds. Franny talked about Newport as though she’d been there a hundred times and, really, it was just a matter of changing her address with the post office. Jackie talked to old men about their sailboats and old women about their dachshunds. When the party was winding down, Jackie’s parents toddled off to their room, and she and Franny ran for the beach with their shoes in their hands.
The hard, wet sand looked so dark against their bare feet, like city concrete. Jackie ran fifty yards in her dress, the hem hiked up around her waist with her white slip taut against her thighs. She pictured Franny on Broadway, all those boys fading into the background. When Jackie stopped running, the girls stood there for a moment and stared at each otherin the dark. Jackie could make out Franny’s hair, which was starting to frizz in the humidity, and her dress, puffy under her arms like a barrel. Her feet were still mostly clean; Jackie’s were speckled with sand and dirt. Above them, the Breakers looked like it had been carved out of a cloud, all smooth, all white. The ballroom was still lit up; the orchestra continued to play. Tired dancers could have walked to the window and seen them there, two ghost-girls. Jackie let go of her dress with one hand and waved, inviting Franny farther away from the line of vision.
But Franny didn’t move. What was down the beach? What would she do once she made it there? Jackie thought of the faceless boys on Broadway, and the way that Franny would have run to them, without even giving it a second thought, just because they were handsome and tall and exactly what she’d always imagined she would have. Jackie hadn’t imagined that, not
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