Till We Meet Again (31 page)

9

E
VE would have preferred to hold Freddy’s birthday dinner at Perino’s, the most elegant French restaurant in Los Angeles, but Freddy had been to the Hollywood Brown Derby once before, and had fallen in love with the rough-and-tumble of its show-business atmosphere, with the corned-beef hash and creamed chicken and the bottles of catsup on each table, and the telephones that could be plugged into each table, an amenity that Eve still found unthinkable, no matter how often she visited the restaurant.

Eve wondered what her mother or, for that matter, her mother-in-law would have thought of taking young girls to such a place. Gould either of those gentlewomen of the old school even have imagined a restaurant in which, as tonight, men and women in evening dress sat in the booths on either side of Tom Mix, who was dressed in an elaborate Western outfit and eating an enormous bowl of bouillabaisse; a restaurant where, every night, autograph hunters formed a permanent crowd on the sidewalk around the fringed canopy at the entrance, as they waited for the movie stars to appear; a restaurant from which, as tonight, many of the people in the room would leave for the prizefights at the Hollywood Legion Stadium only a block away, sometimes missing the notorious fistfights that took place regularly between some of the Derby’s most famous customers?

How had she spent her own sixteenth birthday, Eve wondered. Surely there had been a special family dinner party; perhaps she had been allowed one festive glass of Dom Perignon; possibly there had also been a tea party with eclairs and petit fours for a few of her friends. She couldn’t truly remember, for sixteen was not an age of which the French made much. At sixteen a girl was still considered a child; her own hair had still fallen girlishly to her waist, she had gone nowhere without a chaperone, she had never been to a public dining place.

And yet … and yet … at sixteen, had she not been more than a child?

Eve smiled secretly to herself as she looked at her daughters, sitting up so straight in the low-sided booth, gazing discreetly at the stars dining all around them, many of whom had greeted Paul and Eve as they went to their tables, for the French Consul and his wife were popular everywhere in Los Angeles. There had been many a glance of appreciation as they had been introduced to Delphine and Freddy, many a nod or a wink of congratulations addressed to Eve and Paul at the sight of their daughters.

Tonight they had both done her proud, Eve thought contentedly. Delphine, only seventeen and a half, looked startlingly sophisticated in her simple white chiffon evening dress, her only ornaments a string of pearls and pearl earrings Even if she had been wearing inappropriate diamonds, no one would have noticed, Eve thought, because they would have been so occupied by the grace with which she held her head, and the outright beauty of her features.

Freddy, although she had come home late from school, tonight of all nights, had somehow managed to persuade her hair to fall into relatively disciplined waves around her flushed, happy face—Eve had always known that she could do it if she wanted to—and her first evening dress, made of dark blue velvet trimmed with a wide border of white satin, made her look more grown-up than she ever had before. This gala dinner must really mean a great deal to her, Eve thought, for Freddy radiated a kind of excitement that was new to her, an excitement of a higher intensity than any she had ever before displayed in a life full of noisy discovery and eagerly shared enthusiasms. In fact, Eve realized, Freddy was so excited that she had barely said a word the whole evening, and they had reached dessert. She touched Paul’s hand and nodded lovingly toward their dazzling younger daughter, a blazing girl, all astonished blue eyes and bonfire hair.

“Where is she?” Eve said softly.

“We’ll never know,” Paul answered.

“Well, we know it’s not a boy.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Paul said

Delphine, a freshman at UCLA, went out on dates far too often to please him, and even tonight, after dinner, she was going to leave them to meet her best friend, Margie Hall, and dash off to some fraternity party. If Freddy was interested
in boys, it had never yet been evident. Now, at sixteen, inevitably they’d have to let her go out when invitations came along, just as they had with Delphine. The French father in him objected, but after five years in California he understood the folkways of the country and knew that there was nothing he could do about it.

Delphine nudged Freddy. “Do you see what I see? Look who just came in! Marlene Dietrich and two men—that must be her husband and Prince Felix Rolo of Egypt … they go everywhere together … 
Freddy!”

“Huh?”

“
Look
, for heaven’s sake, before they go into the bar. Oh, now you’ve missed them. They’ll be out in a few minutes—I’ll poke you.”

“Do you see Howard Hughes anywhere?” Freddy asked, in a distracted voice. Delphine could be relied on to spot anyone photographed in the papers, movie star or not.

“No. Why would you want to see him anyway?”

“Just curiosity,” she answered vaguely.

“You look peculiar,” Delphine said critically. “Mother, doesn’t Freddy look as if she has a fever?”

“Do you feel hot, darling?” Eve asked. “Delphine’s right … your cheeks are so very red and there’s a rather funny look in your eyes. They’re too bright. Perhaps you’re coming down with something. Paul, what do you think?”

“She’s what is locally known as ‘the birthday girl,’ sweetheart—she’s just enchanted to be sixteen at last. That’s not a fever, it’s simply being grown-up—more or less.”

As the three of them turned to Freddy and looked at her with various degrees of tenderness, she found that she couldn’t endure keeping her triumph to herself for another second.

“I soloed today,” Freddy announced, her voice shaking.

“You what?” said Eve.

“You what?” Delphine asked.

“You what?”
Paul shouted, for he was the only one at the table who knew what she meant.

“I took up a plane in the air, circled the field three times and landed.”

“Alone?”
Paul asked, although he already knew the answer.

“It had to be alone, Father. Otherwise it wouldn’t have been a solo,” Freddy said, trying to sound reassuring and mature.

“But it’s just not possible, Freddy, just not possible!” Eve
cried. “You don’t know how to fly. How could you go up in a plane without knowing how? How could you risk your life? Are you completely crazy?”

“Freddy, you had better explain,” Paul said angrily, taking Eve’s hand to calm her down.

“It’s perfectly legal,” Freddy said hastily. “Anybody can solo at sixteen.”

“That’s not an explanation.” Paul’s words were angrier than before.

“Well … Mother, remember how many times you’ve told us how you sneaked away from home and went up in a balloon when you were just fourteen years old?” Freddy began.

“That has nothing to do with anything. Marie-Frédérique, I want the facts!” Paul said as loudly as he could without attracting attention in the crowded restaurant.

“The plane was a Taylor Cub with—”

“The
facts
! How did you learn to fly?”

“I took lessons. Eight hours.”

“When? When did you have time for lessons?” Paul asked through tight lips.

“On Friday afternoons.”

“But that’s when you said you were painting scenery for the school play,” Eve protested.

“I told you a lie.”

Delphine gasped, Eve shook her head in disbelief, and Paul attacked again.

“How did you get the money to pay for the lessons?”

“I … I’ve been working at Woolworth’s on Saturdays, at the candy counter. I earned the money.”

“But the swim team, the friend in Beverly Hills … all those practice sessions in her pool?” Eve protested in outrage.

“I lied about that too,” Freddy said, looking her mother in the eye.

“Where did you take these flying lessons?” Paul insisted.

“Out at Dry Springs.”

“From the man who took you up the day we drove out there four years ago?”

“Yes.”

“How
could
he, that bastard, without letting us know?” Paul’s face hardened even further.

“I lied to him too. I told him you were paying for the lessons. It wasn’t his fault at all.”

“And just how, tell me
how
, you managed to get out to that little airport in the valley on Friday afternoons?” Paul asked, his voice pouncing on Freddy, who had still hoped that no one would ask that particular question.

“I … well, everybody does it, it’s perfectly safe, I … hitched rides … but only with people who looked very, very nice.”

“HITCHED?” Paul and Eve exploded together.

“There’s no other way to get out there except by car,” Freddy murmured, making herself as small as possible and looking at the tablecloth.

“Oh, Freddy!” Delphine breathed, finally shocked. Lying was nothing special, every kid did it about something or other, but hitching, that was really, truly
bad
. No nice girl would dream of hitching. She noticed Jimmy Cagney passing their table, but she didn’t even follow him with her eyes. This was much more interesting.

There was an ominous, absolute, drawn-out silence at the table. Eve and Paul were too angry to trust themselves to speak.

“Eve! Paul! And the beautiful Mademoiselles de Lancel! Ah, what a surprise, what a delightful picture!” Maurice Chevalier stood before them, beaming down at the handsome family group.

“Oh, Monsieur Chevalier, it’s my birthday, isn’t that exciting? I’m sixteen today and we’re celebrating,” Freddy babbled desperately.

“Ah, but then I simply must celebrate with you!
Tu permet
, Paul?” He sat down on the end of the banquette next to Eve. “Waiter, champagne for everyone. Lancel, of course. Pink, if you have it. Yes, Paul, I insist.” He turned to Freddy. “This is a great occasion, Mademoiselle Freddy. You must be so happy tonight. We expect great things from you, my little one, do we not, Paul? Is it not thrilling, Eve?” He turned to Eve and whispered in her ear. “Would not a certain Maddy have been delighted if she could have looked into the future and seen herself tonight, surrounded by such a gallant husband, such lovely daughters?” The waiter appeared with a bottle of Lancel in an ice bucket. “Good, here is the champagne. Now we must all drink a toast—to Mademoiselle Freddy de Lancel and to her future! May it be glorious!”

Freddy drained her glass. Whatever terrible thing happened to her now, it couldn’t feel as bad after a glass of
champagne. To fly with the evening star, under Capricorn—could there be a price too high to pay?

Eve lay awake after Paul had finally gone to sleep. Freddy’s birthday dinner had ended soon after Maurice’s interruption, and by mutual consent nothing else was said to her about her incredible behavior. The Brown Derby was no place to have a court-martial, and the matter would keep until tomorrow—only too well. She and Paul had been too weary and troubled to discuss it as they got ready for bed, but now, tired as she was, she couldn’t fall asleep. She rose quietly, put on her robe, and went to sit on the window seat, where she could draw aside the curtain and look out at the garden.

How, Eve asked herself, could a child as straightforward, as honest and as uncomplicated as Freddy had always seemed to be, have calmly built up such a complex series of lies? She had led what amounted to a double life for months, since the beginning of the school year. How could she have lied to parents who had always, it seemed to Eve, given her the best things in life with open hands and unfailing love? She had managed to keep these secrets from Delphine, not an easy thing to do, and she had, apparently, even lied to the man who had taught her how to fly.

What could he possibly have been thinking of? What sort of irresponsible, reckless person would teach a fifteen-year-old girl to do such a dangerous thing, just for money? How dare he call himself a teacher? She drew her feet up under her and tied her robe more tightly around her waist.

It was bewildering even to try to sort this out because there was so much she didn’t understand. There Freddy had sat, as bold as you please, looking proud of herself, no less, trying to compare her pack of lies to her mother’s own harmless little trip in the hot-air balloon back in Dijon in—when exactly had it been?—in 1910, twenty-five years ago, only a quarter of a century as time is normally counted, but a date that belonged to another world, as long gone as Atlantis, that Edwardian world before the World War.

How old had she been then, Eve wondered. Fourteen, she realized as she calculated rapidly. So she had been as old as that … or had it been as young as that? But slipping away from her governess—Mademoiselle Helene, that martinet—and borrowing her mother’s hat, was a far cry from learning, during months of deceitfulness and untruths, how to fly an
airplane. Only a single detail, an unexpected gust of wind, had made her lose the hat. If it hadn’t been for that, no one would have been the wiser and no one would have been angry. In any case, no harm had been done.

In the dark, Eves lips curved in a smile she didn’t know was on her face as she remembered the grandness of shock, the stunning, illuminating surprise she had felt when she’d opened her arms to the view of the countryside from the gondola of the balloon, and the pride she had felt in being one of the few who had actually managed to rise far above the crowd and see for herself what the great world looked like from the air.

She had to admit that she could feel some empathy toward Freddy, if it was only a question of wanting to see beyond the horizon. She had always understood that need, Eve thought grudgingly. It was quite normal to want to feel free and special, particularly at her age.

But actually to fly a plane by herself? There were women pilots, of course. Everyone had heard about Amelia Earhart and Anne Lindbergh and Jackie Cochrane. Their exploits were always news, but they were grown-up women, not young girls, and they were an unusual breed of woman, interested in achievements that belonged in the domain of men. Other women might admire them but didn’t understand them.