RUBY
August 1941
Not to sound uncharitable on the matter, but Ruby was damned glad that Nick Cabot character had split.
He was nice enough, if you didn’t listen too closely, and you couldn’t really fault a soldier going off to war. But, goodness, the man sucked up every crumb of Topper’s time. With Nick around, it was as though the rest of them hardly existed, background players all.
On top of that, Nick didn’t seem to like Hattie. Anyone not entirely charmed by the girl had to be several cards short of a full deck. How could he object? Unless he had a beef with beautiful, witty, continental babes who were a gas to boot. If so, then good luck.
“Selfish egoist of a girl,” Ruby overheard him say one night at the casino.
She didn’t so much “overhear” as he said it right to Topper’s and Ruby’s faces after Hattie sashayed off to find Mary. That alone told you the girl was generous to the gills. She sought out Mary, of all people.
“Excuse me?” Ruby said with a hard glare. “You have a problem with Hattie?”
“Okay, I was a little harsh,” Nick conceded. “But there’s simply nothing to her.”
“‘Nothing to her’?” Ruby steamed, glaring fiercely at her brother, who snapped his head away. “She’s beautiful and brilliant and a kick and a half!”
“Beautiful, I suppose. But the rest of it? Sweets, you’re reading her all wrong. Less breeding and couth and she’d be a hedonist. Only in it for the fun and gluttony.”
“Gluttony. She eats like a bird. Topper! Are you going to let your friend talk about Hattie like that?”
Not meeting eyes with either one, Topper patted Ruby on the shoulder and said to his friend, “You get used to her.”
“‘Used to her’? What? Like a heat wave or an itchy skin condition?”
Ruby hadn’t imagined there could be a person alive who didn’t find Hattie Rutter incomparably charming. There must’ve been something darkly wrong with this Nick Cabot character. He probably kicked old ladies.
“So Nick’s off to Europe,” Ruby said on a glorious blue and gold afternoon as she and Topper approached the tenth hole of Sankaty Head.
Nick had been gone twelve hours and it was as obvious a statement as one could make but Ruby wanted to make it nonetheless. Since the man’s departure, Topper was all gloom and blue moods. Nick Cabot’s view of things still clung to her brother like a sticky, light film.
“Yes, he is,” Topper said. “Off to fight the evil Axis.”
With a bite of the lip, Topper teed up using one of Daddy’s balls. When they ran out of this batch, that’d be it. Until the war was over, he’d make no more.
“I’m sure you’ll miss him,” Ruby said as Topper set up. “We all will! Such a card to have around. But my guess is Hattie will be pleased as punch to have her beau back. She’s positively thrilled you’re staying the full week and not going back to Boston.”
Ruby was workin’ it like a pro, but “thrilled” was not exactly the shape of it.
Hattie’s response had been “That’s swell” when Ruby told her. Just two words: “That’s swell.” Of course, Hattie was not the excitable type and was hardly “thrilled” by much. A hedonist. Honestly. Hattie’s unflappable demeanor was the very issue Nick took with her, no doubt. The man had all the class of an untrained Labrador. Case in point: He tromped around the upstairs in his shorts as if he were in a boys’ dormitory. Even easygoing, pal-to-all Sam carped at the guy to please keep his twigs and berries in their sack.
“‘Thrilled,’” Topper said with a cough, on to his sister right away. “Really. That sounds like a Ruby word, not a Hattie one.”
With an inhale, he swung and knocked the ball a clear two hundred yards off the tee.
“Well, thrilled in her own special way,” Ruby clarified. “So I hear you two are going deer-spotting later?”
“As far as I know.”
“That should be fun.”
Ruby placed her ball on the ladies’ tee and gave it a whack. It went far, though didn’t come close to Topper’s.
“It’s a shame Daddy hasn’t had the chance to get to know her,” Ruby said, and flung her bag over her shoulder. They began walking down the fairway. “He’d like her, don’t you think? I can’t believe he came all this way for the parade but didn’t stay for the ball.”
“It is indeed too bad he wasn’t fit to stay.”
“And he’s been back exactly once. In all those weeks!”
When they approached Topper’s ball, he crouched down to inspect the lie of the grass.
“Poor man has been working so hard,” Ruby gabbed on. “Who knew you could be a businessman and factory worker both?” She paused, hand on hip. In the distance birds tittered. “Are you going to take the shot? Or will you keep making that ball false promises with your inscrutable gaze?”
Ruby waited for Topper to react. But he didn’t laugh, not a chuckle for miles. He always humored his sister, no matter how crummy the joke. But not this time. Instead he rose to standing and looked out over the fairway.
“Is everything okay…?”
“You know he’s not well,” Topper said.
“Who? Daddy? He wasn’t all roses on the Fourth, that’s true. But it’s only because he’s been working like the devil with this gas mask venture. It’s really great what he’s done, when you think about it. I was skeptical at first but…”
Ruby let her voice trail off as she thought about the masks. There was a classification for this type of work. 2-B. Men necessary to national defense, therefore nondraftable. Daddy was too old for war, but her husband and P.J. worked at Young Manufacturing. Topper would work there, too. Ruby let loose a relieved smile.
“This isn’t about any gas masks.…” Topper gently touched her arm. “Pops is ill, Red. You have to see that. He looks terrible.”
Ruby whipped out of his reach.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a real Sally Sunshine? He seems a tad beleaguered, like I said, but Mother would tell us if he were sick.”
“Would she?”
Topper turned and took his shot, missing the green by a hair.
“Well, goddammit,” he said. “Close is never good enough.”
“That shot is decent and you know it. A slight breeze could nudge it into the right spot. And, by the way, Daddy is not sick.”
“Use your eyes,” Topper said. “And that precious brain of yours. Time to poke your cute head from beneath the rock. Dad is not himself. Your shot, Ruby. I recommend a seven iron.”
“If I wanted advice, I’d have used a caddy.”
Ruby pulled out a seven iron anyway and knocked the ball a yard from the hole.
“Not too shabby,” Topper said.
He reached for his putter and, with one swift stroke, the ball plunked into the hole. A birdie. His third of the day.
“Nice one,” Ruby griped.
Her second shot had been much better than Topper’s, but now the best Ruby could do was to match him on this hole. All that and she’d still be twelve strokes back. Ruby was always playing from behind.
“Go to it, sis,” he said.
Ruby clomped up to her ball and examined it from every angle, like Topper would, though she sorely lacked his golfing precision.
“Well, if Daddy is sick,” she said, still kneeling, “then you should do something about Hattie.”
Ruby stood and plinked the ball. It missed the hole by one inch wide to the right.
“What do you mean ‘do something’?” Topper asked. “Come on, Red, you can putt better than that.”
“Make an honest woman out of her. And, if I could putt better, don’t you think I would?”
“That’s not how golf works.”
Ruby rolled her eyes and finally tapped the ball into the hole. She leaned down to pick it up.
“An honest woman?” Topper said with a cough-cackle. “We’re a smidge late for that, I’m afraid.”
“Don’t be a worm.”
“Surely you’re not implying that I should propose?”
“And why not?” Ruby asked. She set her clubs down with a huff. “You and Hattie get along magnificently and you’re beautiful together. She’s smart and athletic, in addition to being drop-dead gorge.”
“Ah, Red. Hattie’s a doll and you’re spot-on with all of it. But I’d say a few bang-up physical and personality traits aren’t enough to start a marriage by.”
Ruby was confused. Weren’t those the precise things you started a marriage by?
“You know Daddy worries about you,” she said. “He thinks you’ll never settle down. If you’re so certain he’s sick, you could make him a happy man.”
“He does worry about that,” Topper said with a nod. “But there’s nothing I can do about someone else’s stress. Anyhow, if I did propose to Hattie, she’d sock me in the chin.”
“See? You’re a perfect match!”
“Sweet girl, I know you want the best for me. And for Hattie. But a hasty engagement is as far from ‘the best’ as you were from the fairway on hole five.”
“Hey!” Ruby gave him a jolly punch to the arm. “That was uncalled-for.”
“The truth hurts, eh?”
“And I especially didn’t relish you snapping a picture of my failure.”
“No one would believe it otherwise,” he joked. “Come on, a foursome is approaching. We don’t want them complaining about a girl on the course.”
“I know those old toads and could beat any of them on my worst day.”
“So, today then?”
Ruby growled at him.
“The man with the pipe has a fifteen handicap,” she said, “but likes to think it’s five.”
Topper chortled and hoisted his golf bag onto his right shoulder. Then he swung it behind him, holding on with both arms. He looked like the exact kind of person Hattie Rutter should end up with. Thanks to the war, people were getting married brashly these days. Why couldn’t those two join the trend?
“Her birthday’s coming up,” Ruby said as they approached the eleventh hole. “Hattie’s.”
“I think she mentioned something along those lines.”
Topper held a hand over his eyes and scanned the fairway.
“I was thinking we could throw her a party. Next Friday night is free. Wouldn’t that be a gas?”
“Sure, why not? I’m always game for a fiesta.”
“I expected a tick more enthusiasm.”
“I’m not sure what you’re searching for, Red,” he said, squinting at her, “but you should do it, if you want.”
“But I…” Ruby started, though she had no real way to finish. She sighed. “Okay, maybe I will. You’d better show up.”
“Of course I’ll show up.”
Topper removed a ball from his bag and spun it a few times before placing it on the tee.
“There’s a chance, though?” Ruby said as he set up for the shot. “I mean, one day. If you keep dating and everything continues on this path?”
“A chance for what, exactly?”
“That you could propose.”
“Geez-aloo, what a question.”
Topper closed his eyes and waited a big thick while before finally looking at Ruby again.
“I hate to tell ya, Red. I know you have your sights set on this. But as to whether there’s a chance we’ll get married … I’m sorry, I just don’t think there is.”
* * *
Hattie seemed embarrassed by the fuss. As Ruby had never seen the gal rattled by a darn thing, it was a disconcerting situation.
“Do you not want a birthday party?” Ruby asked, tentatively, a few days prior. She was scared of the question, and the answer, as the wheels were already in motion. “You’re twenty-five. A real milestone!”
“Lord, don’t rub it in,” Hattie responded and took a deep suck of her cig. She then inspected Ruby for a minute, sizing her up and a little bit down. “You know what, Rubes? Let’s do it. A party sounds keen. You’re fab. Absolute aces.”
So there they were, on a Friday night, the orchestra playing, guests scattered across the lawn. They’d invited the Grey Ladies, as well as Hattie’s friends from town. The Hulbert Avenue girls were surprised to find such grandiosity all the way in Sconset. Forget the artists and fishermen, on its cliffs stood a bona fide estate, albeit an estate built mostly with “new money,” so it almost didn’t count.
The party took off in a flash. The guests danced and drank champagne and told stories from college and finishing school. At one juncture a gaggle of those rabble-rouser Kennedys showed up and incited a mêlée with some of Topper’s friends. Hattie managed to break the whole thing up with a slap or three. During her time in London, Hattie had known some of the boys, and one girl or another, though there was little difference between the genders in that family.
Around midnight, the evening began to wind down, though plenty of good-time gals were still jitterbugging on the patio. Couples held hands near the cliff’s edge, whispering promises as they stared out across the forever. Ruby was plumb exhausted and had decided to pack it in herself when she realized Hattie was AWOL.
“Huh,” she said, inspecting the grounds. “Is that her?”
She craned her neck to make out the identities of two girls roller-skating on the tennis court. Upon closer inspection, neither had the curves to suggest the birthday girl.
“Looking for someone?” Sam asked, and slipped in behind her.
“Yes. Hattie seems to be missing,” Ruby said with a frown.
“She probably turned in.” Sam gave her a hug. “You put on one hell of a shindig, baby. Everyone had a snazzy time.”
“Oh … thanks.… Don’t you think she should’ve stuck around? Until the last guest left? It is her party after all.”
“Hmm. Perhaps. Though I’m not up on the latest etiquette and anyway this island has its own rules.”
“Yes it does,” Ruby said. “Nonetheless, I’m going to find her.”
She was at once chafed and fighting the creeping suspicion that the party was destined for ruin, though it was mostly over. Forget decorum, the only people left would be lucky to remember their shoes.
“Are you coming?” Ruby called over her shoulder.
Sam opened his mouth as if to speak and Ruby’s heart wrapped right around the sight of him. His hair was mussed and starting to curl from the briny air. He hadn’t shaved since morning and so his stubble was thick and dark. Ruby smiled at her husband. Sam was too dang handsome, calamitously so.
“I love you so much,” Ruby said, blurted really, as the feeling nipped at her very soul. “I’m so lucky to be your wife.”
“Ah, Rubes, I’m the lucky one.”
She smiled and listened as the waves broke on the shore below. Maybe this was why Hattie wasn’t notably enthused by Topper. Ruby’s baby brother was handsome as the sun was bright but he had nothing on Sam.
“I’m going to find her,” Ruby said again. “Hattie. Make her send the remaining guests off fittingly. Care to join me?”
“Well, actually”—he blushed—“I’d planned to meet P.J. and Topper for some poker at the casino. Would you mind terribly?”
“Absolutely not,” Ruby said. “But make sure you come to bed at a decent hour. And…” She gave him an exaggerated wink. “Please wake me when you do.”
* * *
After three sweeps of the house, and a look-see from the captain’s walk, Ruby couldn’t rustle up even the slightest hint of Hattie. Had she gone home? Hattie stayed the night at Cliff House after most parties. Eight miles back to town was a haul after a few gin fizzes and some swings around the dance floor.
As Ruby plonked down the stairs for the fourth time, she rounded the banister toward the kitchen—called a “porch” by any Sconseter worth her salt—and stopped dead in her tracks when she heard a squeal.
“Hattie?” she called tentatively as she stepped into the kitchen.
Another muffled sound: yes, it was her friend’s voice.
Ruby walked farther into the room. The noise seemed to be coming from the kitchen, but the place was flat deserted save for a dozen emptied champagne bottles and countless plates of abandoned chocolate cake. Hattie yelled something again. Her friend was in the butler’s pantry.
Hattie sounded hurt, or upset, and Ruby aimed to find out why. As she pushed the door open a crack, Ruby glimpsed a flash of red. She recoiled and the door sprung back. When she pressed on it a second time, Ruby saw her pal, her newest yet dearest chum, sprawled across the carving table.
“Hattie,” Ruby gasped, though the guest of honor did not hear.
Hattie was on the wood table, topless, splayed out on her back. Her knees were bent; her skirt was hiked up and crumpled around her waist. She looked like a biology frog, not a woman. Even her boobs had disappeared somewhere into her chest. With her was Topper, pants around his ankles, rutting with force.
Topper grunted as he jammed into her. With each thrust, Hattie’s head smacked against a block of knives. She was grunting, too, when not bellowing out instructions using language that would make a sailor weep. Sick splashed up the back of Ruby’s throat. What she was watching was animal, primal. Both were willing, but neither seemed to be enjoying it at all.
“Harder!” Hattie cried. “Fuck me harder!”
Another gasp escaped Ruby. Meanwhile, Topper bore down, ramming Hattie with ferocity. He pounded her ever more vigorously, bracing himself against her breasts as they sank farther into her chest. Ruby cringed for the pain as Hattie bucked her hips with escalating might.
God, Ruby thought, maybe she and Sam had been doing it wrong. Maybe that’s why she wasn’t pregnant. Nothing in their marital bed looked remotely like this.
With a sudden and staggering grunt, Topper pulled out from inside Hattie. Ruby reeled at the sight of his member, slick and erect and grotesquely large. She made a gagging sound as Topper spun Hattie over onto her stomach and took her from behind.
As if the door were suddenly hot, Ruby let go. It swooshed several times before finally coming to a stop. She backed up, shaking her head as if that could make the scene evaporate. When she reached the hallway, she turned and scrabbled upstairs as quickly as her feet would take her.
Ruby was no authority, the sum total of her lovers exactly one, but what she saw did not check out. She couldn’t explain why, but it wasn’t supposed to be that way. It wasn’t supposed to look like that. Not even if you grew up in France.
* * *
Ruby sat on the edge of her bed, knees tucked up into her chin, teeth chattering.
She was disgusted by what she had seen, and what she had heard. Even this very room repulsed her, with its pastel colors, the alternating walls of coral and slate blue, not to mention the pale pink wardrobe lodged in the corner. Tennis trophies, horse show ribbons, and notices of scholastic achievement surrounded her. And, God, that cutesy collection of themed salt-and-pepper shakers. The place suddenly appeared so juvenile, the room of a girl who’d never grown up. She and Sam had pushed the twin beds together, but that was the only change in ten years.
Eyes stinging in hot repugnance, Ruby stood and crept down the hallway toward the bathroom, though no amount of scouring could chase away the bitterness in her mouth.
In the bathroom, Ruby turned the faucet. As she ran her brush beneath the water, her hands shook violently.
“Hiya Rubes!”
Ruby jumped. The toothbrush flew upward, leaving a splatter of water on the mirror.
“Cripes, Hattie,” she said, struggling for breath. “You scared the devil out of me. What are you doing?”
“I’m brushing the twags, same as you.”
When Ruby caught her friend’s face in the mirror, she saw that Hattie looked mostly the same. The hair was coiffed, falling in soft waves against her face. Her clothes were still expertly draped, hugging her body with grace, only a few new wrinkles to be found. Even Hattie’s makeup was decent for that time of night. There was nothing to indicate she’d just been pillaged. Where were the marks? Where was the shame?
“Scooch over,” Hattie said. She jammed her hand into her purse and extracted a toothbrush. “Move it, girl.”
Hattie gave Ruby a friendly pat on the backside. Ruby jumped again, this time nearly falling through the shower curtain.
“Whatsa matter, kid?” Hattie asked around the toothbrush lodged between her molars. “You seem jumpy. Literally jumpy.”
“Yeah, well, you don’t seem jumpy at all, which is strange.”
“Huh?” Hattie jacked up one brow. “You kill me, Rubes. You’re one cutup of a dame.”
She spit into the sink.
Hattie slept at Cliff House multiple times per week. If they attended a party or dinner, Hattie was almost always too pooped for the trek back to Points North. Because she stayed in Walter’s old room, the two girls often met like this, in the little white bathroom halfway down the hall. How many times had Hattie come to her immediately after being ransacked by Topper?
Because that’s what it was.
A ransacking. A plundering. A battering. A pounding. There were a hundred words running through Ruby’s brain, not a one of them anything close to love. Topper hammered into Hattie while she bucked to meet him, angrily, determined, like waves crashing in a storm.
“So,” Ruby said, and slapped a palmful of Pond’s onto her face. “Did you and Topper have a nice evening? You disappeared.”
“Yeah. Sure. He’s a swell chap, your brother.”
“‘A swell chap’?” Ruby scoffed. “Is that all you want to say for yourself?”
“Why do I get the impression I’ve committed some undocumented, heretofore unknown Cliff House crime?”
“I don’t know,” Ruby said. “Why don’t you tell me?”
“Geez, Rubes, are you cheesed at me or something? If so, spill it. No use making me guess. I’ll get it wrong. I promise.”
“Do you like him?” she asked. “My brother? Topper.”
“Of course you meant Topper. Wouldn’t be P.J. now, would it? Never mind he’s already married to the matte and muted Mary.”
“Just answer the question, Hattie.”
“Topper’s keen as can be. What gives, hon? You’re angry as a cat.”
“Is this a relationship?”
Ruby pictured Topper flipping Hattie over, jamming himself into the small space between her round and lifted cheeks. The girls at school discussed all manner of tips and tricks to prevent pregnancy or the loss of virginity, but no one had ever mentioned anything like that.
“Are you in it for real?” Ruby asked, trying desperately not to cry. “Or is it merely some big game for you? The girl from the Continent humoring the local Yank?”
“Is he my steady? Is that it?” Hattie asked, an amused smile playing at her lips. “Oh, sugar, we’re nothing like that and, believe me, it suits your brother just fine. It’s all in good fun.”
“Fun?” Ruby snorted. “Yeah, looks like a real blast.”
With that, she chucked her toothbrush into the sink.
“Well, Hattie, I’m gonna hit the percales. Have a good night. Sweet dreams. And don’t forget to shut off the lights.”