CHAPTER ONE
March 1956
MILLY
At a little past six on a Wednesday evening, after fixing her hair into a smooth S-wave and slipping into her canary-yellow dress with the sweetheart neckline, Milly Kincaid picked up one of her slingback pumps and hurled it down the hallway as hard as she could. Its heel lodged into the wall of her brand-new house on Balboa Island, and it stayed there. She picked up its mate and launched that one too, watching with dissatisfaction as it thumped, sadly, to the floor. She considered grabbing another but stopped and froze, staring at the damage she had caused, and wondered what she’d tell her husband. Only then did she allow herself to acknowledge the feeling that had nagged at her all night as she’d tossed and turned alone in their bed: the feeling that she had made a terrible, terrible mistake. They should never have moved to this godforsaken island.
Her husband Lloyd hadn’t been home for three nights, and fifteen minutes earlier they were supposed to have arrived at the house of their new neighbors, the Johnsons, for a welcome dinner. Despite leaving numerous messages with Lauralee, Lloyd’s secretary, Milly had no idea if he would actually show his face.
Leticia, the new babysitter, who barely spoke a word of English, wasin the yard playing with the children, and Milly didn’t know which would be worse—to cancel last minute and make a terrible first impression with her new and rather fabulous neighbors, or to go alone and risk starting rumors about her shaky marriage. Balboa Island was a small community; people would talk, people would gossip, she was sure of it. She had no choice but to face the evening alone.
She powdered her nose, reapplied her Cardinal Red lipstick, and regretfully collected her shoes, dislodging the one wedged in the wall and picking up the other from the floor.
When she reached over the white picket fence and unlatched the gate at the house on South Bay Front, just a short walk from hers on Amethyst Avenue, her hand was shaking slightly. Milly and Lloyd were the new couple in a new town. Having Lloyd by her side gave her stability, comfort, someone to lean on to ensure they came off as a couple worthy of an introduction. As a television executive, Lloyd had far more impressive things to talk about than Milly did. What could she possibly converse about? How Debbie had been crying herself to sleep each night because she missed her old friends, what Jack ate for dinner, or how overwhelmed Milly felt by the sheer magnitude of unpacking an entire house alone? What a bore!
The table on the Johnsons’ front patio was already set with a red-and-white-checkered tablecloth, white china plates, and pale-blue rolled napkins. A bowl of fresh strawberries caught the late afternoon sun, and the whole scene had a casual elegance to it, like something out of a magazine. If Milly had been the one inviting the new neighbors over, she would have been a frantic mess, scrambling to get dinner on the table, tidying up the house, and making sure the children were presentable. But Milly could tell even after meeting her hostess only a few times that Sylvia was the kind of self-assured woman who made entertaining look like a breeze.
“Milly!” The front door swung open, and Sylvia sashayed out in a full-skirted royal-blue dress with a pale-pink bowknot collar and a matching pink apron tied around her tiny waist. Her auburn wavescaught the sun and looked as if she’d just walked out of the beauty salon. She placed a bowl of melon balls on the table, then leaned in for a kiss on the cheek. “I’m so glad you’re here. Where are those adorable ankle-biters of yours?”
“They’re at home. I’m trying out a sitter, Leticia. It’s so much more relaxing without the children,” Milly said, not feeling relaxed at all—worrying if Debbie was missing her, worrying if Jack was acting up, worrying if Lloyd would make an appearance.
“I don’t envy you,” Sylvia said. “Those early years are exhausting. You need all the help you can get.” She smiled, and Milly wished she could be her for a moment, standing there in front of her perfect house, with, no doubt, a perfect, happy family inside. “My Walter will be out in a jiffy. Is Lloyd joining us?”
Milly’s stomach clenched. “He’ll be here any second,” she said an octave too high. “He must be stuck in traffic.”
Though it had been a calculated decision to move, the fifty-mile stretch of road between his work in Hollywood and their new home on Balboa Island was beginning to feel precarious, like a piece of bubblegum stretching out between them, growing thinner and thinner, threatening to break at any moment. She never knew when to have dinner on the table or what to tell the children when he didn’t come home. In the last two weeks since they’d moved in, he’d barely spent any time with them at all, and his absence made her increasingly anxious.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Milly asked, trying to change the subject.
“It’s all under control.” Sylvia pulled out a chair for Milly, then sat across from her. “The food is almost ready. My daughter Judith is upstairs in her room listening to records—‘Heartbreak Hotel’ over and over again.” She rolled her eyes. “He is a peach though, don’t you think?” Sylvia fanned herself dramatically with her hand. “That Elvis Presley.”
“Oh, sure,” Milly said. “Actually, Lloyd was in the same room as him at CBS when he was onStage Showa few months back.”
“Do not tell my Judith that; she’ll never leave your poor husband alone,pestering him for information.” She laughed. “But, more importantly”—Sylvia leaned forward and gave Milly a wink—“it’s cocktail time.” Sylvia stirred an etched-glass pitcher with a long silver spoon and began to pour the bright red concoction into two tall glasses. “I hope you like a Rangoon Ruby. It’s Ocean Spray cranberry juice, vodka, soda, a squeeze of lime, and a sprig of mint. I got the recipe from a bartender in San Francisco, and it’s perfect for these gorgeous spring days.”
Milly took a long drink. It was exactly what she needed.
A full forty-five minutes later Lloyd entered through the gate, and Milly let out a sigh of relief.
“Sorry to keep you all waiting,” he said, looking as dashing as ever, not a hair out of place. “The studio kept me late, but I insisted I had to leave, told them I had a very important dinner.” Milly was shocked that he’d come, and angry that he hadn’t bothered to let her know, but mostly, she was just grateful not to have to squirm through the evening alone making excuses for his absence.
“Oh, Lloyd, we’re so happy you’re here.” Sylvia opened the door and called inside. “Yoo-hoo, Walter darling, Lloyd has arrived.”
She started mixing two Manhattans at a wheeled bar cart. “Milly and I are drinking Rangoon Rubies, but I’m assuming you need something stronger.”
“Bourbon’s great, thank you,” he said.
Walter emerged from the house looking serious, and for a moment Milly thought she might see annoyance or anger on his face. Maybe Sylvia planned dinners like this every night of the week. But, as if stepping into a role on a TV show, he cracked a smile and reached out to shake Lloyd’s hand.
“Great to meet you, Lloyd. Sylvia tells me you’re a Hollywood man.”
“I work in television,” he said.
“Good business to be in.”
Lloyd nodded. “It’s certainly a busy time; everyone wants to watch the box. We’re trying to provide longer shows, but we can hardly keep up with the demand.”
“Exciting times,” Walter said. “And this must be your lovely wife,” he said, turning his attention to Milly. “Sylvia’s told me so much about you.”
