“Respectable?”
“As respectable as they come,” he said, kissing my neck.
“The best thing we can do right now is lay low. I certainly don’t want her to tell my father—he’ll disown me for good if he knows I’ve been staying here with you as an unwed woman.”
“Agreed. I haven’t even met him yet, I certainly don’t want him to have a bad opinion of me.” He drank from the bottle. “I have an idea,” he said suddenly. “Let’s get away from all of this. Let’s go upstate to the Adirondacks this week. I have some business to take care of up there, and nothing would make me happier than to have you join me. We can stay at the Pines again.” He looked at me to gauge my interest. “Come on, it’s beautiful at this time of year. With all that hoopla at the club tonight, I think getting out of thecity and spending a few days in the country is probably exactly what you need.”
“It sounds lovely, but I have to be back at the theater in a week, that sounds like a quick turnaround.”
“We can leave tomorrow. I just have something I need to take care of in the morning, then we’ll take my train car, no waiting around. I’ll have it connected to the most direct trains and we’ll get there in less than twenty-four hours. I’ll make sure you enjoy the journey as much as the destination.”
He wasn’t kidding. We boarded the train early and were greeted by the same butler I’d met the first time I saw his railcar.
We sat on the two-seater facing the windows.
“I do love a good adventure,” I said, smiling.
“And I love your spontaneity,” Archie said. “I could tell from the minute you flew off that stage and landed in my arms that you had a wild streak in you.” He ran his fingers across my wrist, and just one touch sent a shiver up my arm. I felt like a teenager around him.
“I’ve always been thrilled by the feeling of not knowing what comes next,” I said. “I’ve craved that feeling of excitement since I was a child, but growing up my family didn’t share that sentiment.” I leaned back on the plush down-filled cushions. “They wanted to know what their immediate future held, they were a family of planners and organizers, with routines and schedules and set dinnertimes. I’ve always been the outsider in that regard. I’m telling you, even what we ate for dinner was planned out. On Mondays, we had baked ham with carrots and peas. Tuesdays, lamb chops and mashedpotatoes. Wednesdays, my father met friends at the club, so we had leftover baked ham sandwiches and apple jelly. Thursday was broiled veal cutlets and fried tomatoes.”
“That would drive me crazy,” Archie said.
“It was the same thing week after week. If there was a change to be made, and that was a rare occurrence, my mother wrote it on the blackboard in the kitchen. Every day was so predictable.”
I thought back to the conversation I’d had with my mother at the kitchen table before I moved out of their house in Flatbush, her hint at disdain for her domesticated life. I’d always been so resentful of those mundane dinners, I’d never considered for a moment that she might feel the same way.
“Maybe that’s why you grew up to be such a daring thing,” he said. “You rebelled against the routine.”
“Probably.”
Early that evening after lounging all day, watching out the window as the countryside flew past us, enjoying card games, Archie told me it was time to dress for dinner and presented me with a gift box wrapped in a large silver bow.
“May I?” he asked before he untied the bow, took off the lid and tilted the box toward me.
“Wow,” I said, picking up an emerald-green dress with three tiers of fringe that swished gently with the motion of the train. The appliqué on the bodice was treelike, with gold and green leaves, and it felt reminiscent of the lush greenery we’d been passing through all afternoon. “It’s stunning, thank you.”
By sevenP.M.I was freshened up and dressed for the evening ahead. Outside, day was turning into night and the sky was a richshade of blue. The lounge had been transformed and was set up as an elegant private dining salon, with the sofa moved to the end of the room and a romantic table for two in the center. Archie stood by the window, handsome in a black tuxedo. He turned and looked at me.
“A vision,” he said. “That’s always my favorite part—seeing you walk into a room. You look beautiful.”
“I feel beautiful, thank you,” I said, giving a little twirl, letting the fringe of the dress sway from side to side.
Miniature hors d’oeuvres were brought out to us two at a time—stuffed mushrooms, salmon mousse and toasted bread, olives and even oysters.
Archie took my hand and walked me over to the gramophone. We danced to Bessie Smith’s “Back-Water Blues,” and I felt as though I could stay on that train with him forever. Suddenly the city and stage seemed so far away.
Once we sat down, the butler came out of the kitchen with a tray perched on his shoulder with two beautifully molded individual Jell-O salads—each one about six inches tall. “Look how they jiggle.” I laughed, shimmying in unison with them.
“This is quite a spread for a train ride,” I said. “How is all of this even possible?”
“Anything is possible if you want it badly enough—you know that.”
He delivered the masterpieces to us, slices of tomato, cucumber, celery and green pepper, captured midrotation and suspended in clear yellow gelatin. It danced in front of me with the motion of the train, and it almost seemed a shame to cut into it.
“So, Olive, I’ve been thinking about the Pines Camp.”
“Oh, me too—it’s such a magical place. I never dreamed I’d like it so much when Ziegfeld first told me about it.”
