for she was blessed with an abundant head of hair and curves that once caused an elderly fellow in a wheelchair to stand and walk for the first time in years. She wasn’t always the prettiest girl in the room, but it was hard to take your eyes off her, like a train accident or a dancing bear.
“You need a break, Caroline. Why not be my bridge partner?”
“I can’t, Betty. Things are crazy here. With Hitler throwing his weight around, half of France is trying to get out, and the other half is desperate to get back in. I have sixty comfort packages to assemble. You’re welcome to help.”
“I do love the French. Seems you do as well. Saw that new boyfriend of yours yesterday, on his way to the theater.”
A few snowflakes fell outside the window. Was it snowing at our house up in Connecticut?
“He’s not my boyfriend.” Unfortunately, too true, though I saw Paul often that fall and early winter. He would stop by the consulate before rehearsal, and we’d share a brown-bag lunch up on the French Building’s roof garden, no matter the weather.
“You seem to find time for him. Mother told me she saw you step across to Sardi’s. ‘Tête-à-tête at lunch with a tall European.’ Her words. The whole town is talking about it, C. Seems he’s become your best friend now.” Betty lobbed a folded newspaper onto my desk. “There’s a blurb about you two in the Post. Did you know he was voted World’s Most Handsome Man by Physical Culture magazine?”
I wasn’t surprised but was somehow flattered by that. Who even voted for those things?
“One lunch,” I said. “Really. Giving him notes on his show—”
Betty leaned across my desk. “You deserve a lover, Caroline, but keep it quiet, darling. Does it have to be a theater person? And one so, well, public? I know you’re still smarting from David. If I’d known my brother was—”
“That’s over, Betty.”
“I can run interference for you, but once a reputation’s tarnished, there’s no polishing it. Evelyn Shimmerhorn is enormous. Can’t leave the house.”
“Would you leave Evelyn alone? I don’t care what people think.”
“You’ll care when you’re not called up for get-togethers. Why not let me fix you up? Honestly, David may be my brother, but he has his faults, God knows. You’re better off without him, but don’t rebound with some Frenchman just to spite him. Every man has a silhouette, you know, of the woman he’ll end up with. We just need to find a suitable man with yours in mind.”
“You must have better things to think about, Betty.”
Betty had been my biggest supporter since our first day at then-coed Chapin, when a boy in French class called me le girafon and she ground the heel of her white kid boot into his foot.
“If it were up to me, I’d have you and Paul both stark naked atop the Chrysler Building, but I’m trying to protect you, dear.”
To my great relief, Betty said she had to run. I followed her to the reception area, where she took the money tree and dropped it on Pia’s desk.
“I hope you don’t expect me to deposit this,” Pia said, leaning back in her chair, Gauloise in hand.
“Won’t you be a sight on Fifth Avenue? By the way, do you own a bra, Pia dear?”
“The word is brassiere.”
Betty tossed a dollar on Pia’s desk. “Take this, and buy yourself one. They’re cheaper in the children’s department.”
As Betty left the reception room, Paul bounded off the elevator, brown bag in hand, and held the door for her. Betty just gave me her best “I told you so” look and headed on her way.
Paul had come that day to iron out his visa issues with Roger, and I elbowed in on the meeting. I wanted to show my support for Paul, for it would surely convince Roger to help him stay. Roger had installed a Murphy bed in his office, and he’d left it down, the bed linens balled atop it like used tissues. It had not been productive sleep.
“I need to get Rena out of France,” Paul said.
Roger pulled an electric razor from a drawer and set it on the blotter. “We can try. The U.S. visa is a hot item. You saw the line. Even French citizens with U.S. visas are stuck in France. So few boats.”
“Rena’s father is Jewish,” Paul said. “Will that complicate things?”