Now, though, she looked healthy. She had put on some weight, the curves of her figure mirroring Thelma’s own.
“I hope you don’t mind,” said Gloria. She handed Thelma a backless black evening gown, and Thelma slid behind the dressing curtain. “I got so excited that you were finally coming, I couldn’t resist throwing a little party. It’s all very good having Reggie and the baby, but it’s not the same without you here.”
Thelma slipped out of her robe. She knew what Gloria meant: though they both had other girlfriends, it simply wasn’t the same as having each other. During her year in California, Thelma constantly found herself turning to address her absent sister. When Gloria had greeted her at the train station, Thelma felt something click into place: a half made whole again.
“How are you? How is living with Reggie?”
From the other side of the curtain, Thelma heard Gloria sigh. “It’s wonderful. Isn’t that awful? I don’t mean to gloat, but I’ve never been happier. And it’s not just the money, either. We have so much fun together, just the three of us.”
Thelma came out from behind the dressing curtain, adjusting the neckline of the sleek outfit, biting back a sullen retort: Reggie and Gloria were never alone—not with the baby, nor with each other. Their suite of rooms at the Hôtel Ritz were full to bursting: Gloria and Reggie had brought their staff from New York, and the baby now traveled with a retinue of her own, including Thelma’s mother. By every measure, Gloria’s marriage to Reggie had been a success: when she signed the marriage document, she became part of one of the wealthiest families in America. Looking down at the spectacular dress Gloria had thrown her way like a hand-me-down, Thelma could see that her sister had quickly become accustomed to her husband’s lavish way of life.
Gloria pursed her lips. “Not that one—you look sallow.” She pulled a cream-colored Vionnet from the pile. “Try this one, then we can go visit the baby.”
Thelma tried on the second dress. She didn’t begrudge Gloria her good fortune, but she couldn’t help being envious. Thelma’s time in California had been an ordeal of lawyers and penny-pinching; she’d not bothered to think about her future, beyond obtaining the divorce she so desperately sought. Now with that battle behind her, Thelma couldn’t avoid the reality of her financial situation much longer.
She came out once again. Gloria nodded her approval, and Thelma went back to change into her dressing gown, adjusting the turn at the cuff to hide a spot that had begun to fray.
They left the maids to retrieve jewelry and walked down the hall to the nursery. Gloria knocked but before they could enter Little Gloria’s nurse stepped out, pulling the door shut behind her.
“The baby is sleeping,” Nurse Kieslich pronounced. With her pigeon-puffed chest and broad shoulders, she looked more like a linebacker than a nanny: she stood straight-backed, her hand curled around the doorknob.
“Mamma hired her,” Gloria had told Thelma earlier that day, “and she does seem devoted to the baby but she’s so stern all the time. The way she looks at me, I don’t think she likes me one bit.”
Seeing Nurse Kieslich standing guard at the nursery door, Thelma suspected that Gloria was right. Kieslich stared down her nose at Gloria, with an expression that bordered on insolence.
“You would do well to remember she is my child,” said Gloria, lifting her chin, “and I’ll decide when it’s appropriate to see her.”
Kieslich raised her eyebrows but released her hold on the door.
The room was lamp-lit and comforting, a cloud-white cradle in one corner. Gloria pulled aside the bassinet’s muslin curtains and reached in.
“Who’s Mamma’s good girl, then?” she said, lifting the child into her arms.
Little Gloria yawned, rubbing her eyes with a puffy fist. She was more toddler than infant now, her chubby legs dangling down Gloria’s front as she nestled her face in the crook of her mother’s neck.
Gloria kissed the crown of her head. “Would you like to hold her?”
Thelma lifted the child into her arms. “She’s so much bigger,” she said. A year ago, Thelma had made a rare visit to New York to visit the newborn. At the time, Gloria had been laid up in the hospital with diphtheria; Mamma had been caring for the baby in her absence, moving a cot into the nursery so she could sleep beside the crib. Thelma had yearned to hold her niece, but Mamma wouldn’t let her: What germs might Thelma have brought, coming from Gloria’s hospital bed? By the time Gloria had recovered, Mamma had hired Nurse Kieslich, and had moved her belongings permanently into one of Gloria and Reggie’s guest bedrooms.
Mamma had a close hold on Little Gloria, but this evening she was out. Thelma took full advantage of her absence, holding Little Gloria close and inhaling her sweet scent, imagining, for the briefest of moments, that she was holding a child of her own.
A deep voice behind her broke the silence of the nursery. “She likes you.”
Reggie Vanderbilt was standing at the nursery door. He came forward, resting a hand on Gloria’s shoulder as he kissed Thelma on the cheek.
Though he wasn’t a tall man, Reggie dwarfed Thelma and Gloria both, his square frame giving the impression that he took up more space than he truly did. “Perhaps we’ll be welcoming a cousin for Little Gloria to play with before long.”
Thelma looked down as Little Gloria grasped her finger with an unsteady hand. “Perhaps,” she said.
As a brother-in-law, Thelma couldn’t ask for more than Reggie Vanderbilt. Gregarious, fun-loving and good-natured, Reggie was generous to a fault, always insisting on more: more food, more wine, more laughter. He lived in excess, racing cars and horses, hosting parties for hundreds—and though Thelma disapproved of his gambling habit, he adored Gloria, and that was enough.
“Of course she likes you,” said Kieslich as she set the folded blanket back in the crib. “She’s a baby—she likes anyone who holds her.”
“Yes, thank you, Nurse,” muttered Reggie, exchanging a look with Gloria. She stifled a smile and took Little Gloria to settle her back in her crib.
“Troll,” said Reggie, once they were out of earshot. “If I wasn’t so afraid of what your mother would say, Gloria, I would sack her. You ladies get dressed, we’re expected downstairs in an hour.”
* * *
The private dining room at the Ritz was bright, electric lights in chandeliers sparkling over the soft glow of candles. A dining table laden with flowers stood at one end of the room, and a three-piece band sat on a raised dais at the other, rehearsing a jerking, rhythmic piece as Gloria flitted past, setting handwritten place cards on the table. She and Thelma had come down early, instructing the maître d’ to squeeze in another setting.