Page 60 of The Giver of Stars
‘Henry, is it?’ said Margery.
‘Yes, it is. And you would be a … Let me guess!’
‘Henry, can I tell you something?’ Margery smiled sweetly.
‘You can tell me anything, darling.’ He raised an eyebrow, his smile knowing. ‘Anything you like.’
Margery leaned forward so that she was whispering in his ear. ‘The hand that’s in my pocket? It’s resting on my gun. And if you don’t take your hands off my friend here by the time I’m done talking, I’m going to close my fingersaround the trigger and blow your oily head halfway across this bar.’ She smiled sweetly, and then moved her lips closer to his ear. ‘And, Henry? I’m arealgood shot …’
The man stumbled over the feet of the stool she was sitting on. He didn’t say a word but walked briskly back to the other end of the bar, shooting glances behind him as he went.
‘Oh, and it’s real kind of you, but we’re just fine for drinks!’ Margery called, more loudly. ‘Thank you, though!’
‘Whoa,’ said Alice, adjusting her blouse as she watched him go. ‘What did you say to him?’
‘Just that … kind as his offer was, I didn’t think it was gentlemanly to lay his hands on a lady without an invitation.’
‘That’s a very good way of putting it,’ said Alice. ‘I can never think of the right words to say when I need them.’
‘Yeah. Well …’ Margery took a slug of her drink ‘… I’ve had some practice lately.’
They sat for a moment and let the bar chatter rise and fall around them. Margery asked the bartender for another bourbon, then changed her mind and cancelled it. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘With what you were saying.’
‘Oh. Just that I can’t go home. That’s what the letter said. My parents don’t want me back.’
‘What? But why? You’re their only daughter.’
‘I don’tfit. I’ve always been something of an embarrassment to them. It’s like … I don’t know. How things look is more important to them than anything else. It’s like … it’s like we speak different languages. I honestly thought Bennett was the one person who just liked me as I was.’ She sighed. ‘And now I’m trapped.’
They sat in silence for a moment. Henry was leaving, casting furious, anxious glances at them as he hauled at the door.
‘I’m going to tell you one thing, Alice,’ said Margery, as the door closed behind him. She took Alice’s arm and gripped it,uncharacteristically tightly. ‘There is always a way out of a situation. Might be ugly. Might leave you feeling like the earth has gone and shifted under your feet. But you are never trapped, Alice. You hear me? There isalwaysa way around.’
‘I don’t believe it.’
‘What?’ Bennett was examining the creases in his new trousers. Mr Van Cleve, who had been standing with his arms outstretched, being pinned for a new waistcoat, gestured abruptly towards the door, so that a pin caught him in his armpit and made him curse. ‘Goddamn it! Out there, Bennett!’
Bennett looked up and through the tailor’s shop window. To his astonishment, there was Alice, arm in arm with Margery O’Hare, walking out of Todd’s Bar, a spit and sawdust establishment that advertised ‘BUCKEYE BEER ON SALE HERE’ on a rusty sign outside the door. They had their heads tilted together and were laughing fit to bust.
‘O’Hare,’ said Van Cleve, shaking his head.
‘She said she wanted to do some shopping, Pop,’ Bennett said wearily.
‘Does that look like Christmas shopping to you? She’s being corrupted by the O’Hare girl! Didn’t I tell you she was made of the same stuff as her no-good daddy? Goodness knows what she’s encouraging Alice to get up to. Take the pins out, Arthur. We’ll fetch her home.’
‘No,’ said Bennett.
Van Cleve’s head swivelled. ‘What? Your wife’s been drinking in a goddamn honky-tonk! You have to start taking control of the situation, son!’
‘Just leave her.’
‘Has that girl ripped the damn balls off you?’ Van Cleve bellowed into the silent shop.
Bennett flashed a look at the tailor, whose expression betrayed the kind of nothing that would be discussed feverishly among his colleagues afterwards. ‘I’ll talk to her. Let’s just … go home.’
‘That girl is causing chaos. You think it does this family’s standing any good for her to be dragging your wife into a low-life bar? She needs sorting out, and if you won’t do it, Bennett, I will.’
Alice lay on the daybed in the dressing room, staring up at the ceiling, as Annie prepared the evening meal downstairs. She had long since given up offering to help, as whatever she had done – peeling, chopping, frying – had been met with barely concealed disapproval, and she was weary of Annie’s sly comments.
