Bertie turned and put her hands to Opal’s stomach. Then she withdrew them, and the spot she’d been touching grew cool. Bertie had stuffed her maternity corset with a rubber water bag, and now she adjusted it. From her basket, she produced two pints of milk. The liquid coated Opal’s throat, and she couldn’t drink more, despite Bertie’s urging.
Dixie Ellison had also learned of Bertie’s pregnancy. In the papers she referred to Bertie’s baby as “The Heir of Suds.” She complimented Bertie’s tasteful maternity attire. Dixie reported that Bertie’s face had grown plumper; she described Bertie’s glowing skin, her hair that grew thick and lustrous. Dixie insisted pregnancy makes a woman more beautiful, more vital.The work of motherhood does the job of a thousand beauty products.
Outside the windows, Opal observed the city lights; she squinted and imagined they were stars. Bertie helped her climb the stairs to the laboratory. Opal pulled the chain and brightness stung her eyes. Bertie’s makeup was heavy. Not a hair was out of place. She wore amaternity gown with a bright blue belt, but the material bunched at the waist.
“No matter what happens, I’ll talk to Charles. I’ll convince him to talk to the mayor. You’re an Earthshine Girl. He’s particular about public perception, you know.”
Bertie sat at the table, so Opal sat, too. Above them the bare bulb kicked out heat, and between them, on the table, a jar of capsules. Bertie picked it up and examined the contents with curiosity. The woman never said if she did or didn’t believe in the Other Side. Opal admired that, how her beliefs didn’t affect her ability to understand what she needed or to take it.A truly self-sustaining woman.
“Where did you get them—your formulas?”
Opal hesitated a moment, then reached for the formulary she’d hidden in the ceiling, beneath a loose tin tile. The women were intimates now; they knew each other’s secrets. Opal took faith in that exchange, how they both wanted something they couldn’t have, how they both felt like equals because of it. Opal held the formulary out for Bertie to take, and she took it.
“My husband was a doctor,” Opal said.
“And what’s this? Oh, that necklace of yours.” She pulled the necklace from the crease of the formulary, stuffed with those letters, and dangled it on her finger. “I knew from the start you weren’t a simple factory girl.” She closed the formulary and pushed it forward on the table. Opal took it, and Bertie watched as she tucked it back into the space behind the ceiling tile.
“Is there no way you can call in your connections? Surely you know someone who can help—” Opal started to say, but Bertie cut her off.
“Think of what you can do within your means. That’s always the question I ask of myself—the question every woman must ask herself every day if she wants to survive in this world. What power is yours, even if limited? How can you use it?”
The women sat for a while in silence.
M—,OPAL WROTE LATER THATnight.I’ve imagined again and again stepping off that boat in France. Would you be there? Have I understood you correctly? All my life I’ve been waiting, and when I discovered I was pregnant, the waiting became measurable, finally. A new life would soon arrive. I’ve never felt so close to death and life at once with this baby inside of me. Maybe every woman dies at some point, and then spends the rest of her life on the Other Side, trying to recover the distance. I know what I want now. Rump roast.
If this is my last letter, please know how hard I’ve tried to reach your shore.
1986
Only SweetHeart can relax you, revive you, reward you so well—because only SweetHeart adores you so.
—SWEETHEART SOAP
A clock counted down to showtime. The backdrop of the soundstage was a field with purple lilacs, as if Port Middleton had morphed into a cheap Monet print. Celeste was in full costume and makeup. She was doing a sound check. “One, two, three,” she was saying. She spoke with her jaw clenched. Halley used to say she’d be the perfect spokeswoman for Metamucil.
Vincent walked up behind her and touched the small of her back. He was already in character. I could tell by the sound of his voice, too, tinged with old Port Middleton money. “One, two, three,” he now joined her.
Across the room, I spotted Charlie, and I was surprised to see him, I don’t know why. He was speaking with Elliot, and he wore a tuxedo.Charlie kept his hands in his pockets. He’d lost weight, and it made him look older, grandfatherly, though he was not a grandfather and never would be now. Finally, he looked in my direction, and I stepped out from behind the curtain where I’d been shrouded.
He crossed the room, weaving among the cameras and reflectors. He had the gait of a military man—even, quick, decisive—though he’d never served. He stopped and studied me, there in that dress. “What the—”
He held up his hands. “An interview, Nona? With the local news station? At least have the dignity to go national.”
“You’ve had me followed,” I said. “You tapped my phone. And that hit piece in theTempo of the Times? My life is ruined.”
“You’re contractually obligated—” He stopped himself. “You’ve refused to call Gene Longworth, and we need assurances. And what were you doing with those other actresses at that park? Consider the optics.”
“What about the optics of the Jane Does? They aren’t crazy. I have proof. Halley gave it to me.”
“Gene Longworth said—”
“What doyousay?” The curtain near me started moving, closing. The backstage was being sealed off from the soundstage. The clock behind Charlie read three minutes until lights.
Charlie held up his hands again. “There’s a time and place.” He shook his head but refused to meet my eyes. “I’ll wave Gene off for now. But you have to talk to him. We have new contracts for you to sign. NDAs. Addendums.”
“You aren’t listening,” I said.
“I don’t care what Halley gave you. She wassick. This is my family’s legacy—a hundred and fifty years of history. I won’t have this company destroyed. And neither will Bertie.”
