Page 55 of The Book of Summer

“And as for you, little brother,” Ruby said. “You cut a dashing figure. I’m glad to see it’s not all snips and snails and puppy-dog tails with you.”

“Thank you, Madame.”

He took another bow, and then flipped the tails of his tuxedo as if they were feathers.

“I can gin up okay.”

Ruby exhaled, only just then realizing she’d been holding her breath. Gee whiz, Topper sure looked and sounded loads better than the last time they’d all been in that ballroom together. Ruby thanked her lucky stars.

“Alas my countenance could never match that of a one Miss Rutter or a Missus Packard,” he said. “You two dames have already stolen the show and it hasn’t even begun.”

“You snake charmer, you,” Ruby said. “Speaking of Packards, where’d my husband run off to?”

“He’s chatting with the valet. I lost interest and wandered off to find you.”

He reached into his coat.

“Care for a cig, Miss Rutter?” He extended an engraved silver case in her direction. “I picked up some Gauloises on your recommendation.”

“Glad I could spread the good word.” Hattie snagged one. “I admire a man who takes my advice.”

Philip Junior and Mary strolled up then, looking agreeable if not both slightly put out. He was acceptably dapper and she was elegant, for an old stodge anyhow. It was amazing how half a decade could turn a pretty, white-gloved deb into an ordinary Boston low-heeler. Then again, Mary’s heels had never been that high, even when she wore the gloves. But Ruby had to give it to her. Mary did look mighty swell that night, years shaved off her in a jiff.

“Holy Moses!” Ruby said, and gave her sister-in-law a squeeze. It was easier to have compassion toward Mary after a few swigs of gin. “That’s some dress. Gorge as can be. Would you call that a wisteria blue?”

Maybe the gal had a bit of the va-va-voom in her yet.

“Er, um, I’m not sure,” Mary said, straightening her skirt. “I suppose you’d know better than I.”

“Hello, Ruby,” P.J. said, and gave his sister a tin-man embrace.

He nodded toward Hattie, a bob of acknowledgment.

“Hello there,” he said.

“You really are a hot numbah,” Hattie said to Mary, and took a suck on her cigarette. “Simply de-vine. Thank God they haven’t rationed our good fabrics like over in Europe.”

“Not yet,” Topper said. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“And how.”

Hattie took another drag and Topper slipped her a wink of appreciation, a gesture caught by Ruby alone. She beamed at the two of them.

“Hey now,” Topper said. “Whaddya say we shake a leg and head outside? The water carnival and sky parade are due to start.”

“Three parades in one day.” Hattie shook her head and laughed. “And a tennis competition. This is some kind of town. Buzz off, ya stupid war!”

“Well, actually,” Ruby said. “The sky parade is in lieu of the traditional fireworks in respect for…”

“T’hell with all of it!” Hattie prattled on. “We don’t need any of that wretched business marring our sweet island.”

“No siree!” Topper said, joining in. “I personally would rather think about lights on a boat than Stalin’s scorched-earth policy. Come; let’s find a place in line. A bad spot would be the true tragedy.”

He took Hattie’s hand and led her outside. Ruby’s heart lifted as if the hand was hers. Though they were bantering about the stupid war, they were clearly enjoying the party, and each other.

“Shall we go, darling?” P.J. asked, petting Mary’s slender arm. “We don’t want to get a sucker’s seat and miss the show.”

“Very well,” Mary said with a sigh. “Are you coming, Ruby?”

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