Don't Forget to Write: A Novel(16)

“Never,” Charlotte said, feigning outrage but giving a conspiratorial wink. “You two sit right here, and I’ll bring a selection right up for you.” She started to leave but turned back to Ada. “And I have a few new things for you to look at as well.”

“Nonsense. We’re here for Marilyn today.”

“Why don’t I just bring them, and we’ll see how you feel?”

Ada smiled. “Maybe it’s not the champagne.”

We sat, and another young woman brought a tray with a silver coffee pot, two cups, and cream and sugar. Ada indicated that I was to pour. I handed hers to her black, looked longingly at the cream and sugar, but took a sip of the plain brew instead. She said nothing but watched approvingly.

When Charlotte returned, we began with dresses, pedal pushers, and several lightweight blouses. Nothing as exciting as I would have gotten had I done my normal seasonal shopping with Mama, but Ada explained that I wouldn’t need much formal wear at the shore. And the pile of clothes to buy grew larger with each round.

Finally, Charlotte presented the bathing suits. Ada walked up to the rack of them and flipped through while I waited. Her style had been impeccable for the clothes, but if she disapproved of my admittedly modest suit, I was in trouble.

“This one,” she said, handing something to Charlotte, who put it into the changing room and gestured for me to join her.

Hanging on the room’s hook was a baby blue bikini. I had asked for one the year before, citing the images of movie stars in magazines, but my mother refused. Daddy would have thrown a fit, and she didn’t want that fight on her hands.

I poked my head back out. “Really?” I asked Ada.

She shooed me back in. “Try it on.”

Stripping off the sheath dress I had tried on last, I stepped out of my underthings and pulled on the midriff-baring suit. I had never been this publicly unclad before, but I had to admit, it flattered my shape, and the color would look lovely with a tan.

I stepped out, climbing onto the pedestal at the three-way mirror.

Ada smiled, lifting her eyebrows twice. “And you thought you weren’t going to have any fun this summer.” She turned back to Charlotte. “We’ll take it.” She thought for a moment. “Add a second one in green while we’re at it.”





Back on the street, we waited as the concierge brought the bags to the car. “Not as barbaric as you assumed when you arrived, is it?”

“Philadelphia?” I asked. She nodded. “It’s not New York—”

“Nothing is New York,” Ada said. “Just like how nothing is Paris.”

I had never been. “But I suppose it has its charm.” I gestured down the street. “I tried to see the Liberty Bell the other day, but it was closed for renovations.”

“I didn’t take you for the history type.”

I shrugged. “When in Rome . . . or in this case, Philadelphia.”

She eyed me carefully. “I also didn’t take you as the type to give up so easily.” She gave a dollar to the concierge, then slipped a hand through my arm. “Come on. Let’s go see your cracked bell.”

“But, Ada, it’s closed. The door was locked and the windows were covered.”

“Pishposh. Nothing is that closed.” She walked, taking me along with her. “Keep up, please.”

We walked the three blocks arm in arm, then down the tree-lined avenue to the entrance. “See?” I said, showing her the sign. “Closed for renovations.”

“Oh, ye of little faith.” She shook her head. “Come along.” And she half pulled me to the corner, rounding the building to the rear entrance, where workers were cutting wood on a sawhorse. “Hello, boys,” Ada called merrily.

One of the workers tipped his hat, but another looked less pleased. “You can’t be back here, ma’am. It’s restricted.”

“Could I speak to your supervisor, please?” she asked sweetly. “I won’t be but a moment.”

I was sure he would say he was the supervisor. Or that he wasn’t going to get whoever was. But when Ada flashed a smile, seventy-five or not, he softened.

An older, heftier man, who clearly did none of the manual labor himself, came outside a moment later. He looked up at the sun and wiped his brow with a stained handkerchief before directing himself to us.

“How can I help you today, ma’am?”

“Ada Heller,” she said, sticking her hand out. He studied it for a moment before shaking it. I wasn’t sure I would have offered mine. He didn’t look overly clean and was sweating profusely. “My niece here is from New York and hasn’t seen a single thing that makes her think this city of ours is worth even a penny.” The supervisor shot a dirty look at me. Thanks, Ada. “I took her to Betsy Ross’s house.” Lie. “And the Christ Church Burial Ground to see Mr. Franklin.” Another lie. “We even went to Declaration House.” I didn’t even know what that was. All I had seen so far was the train station, Gimbels, and Oxford Circle. “And she’s simply impossible to impress.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “But the one thing that can’t fail to impress is the Liberty Bell. You know it as well as I do. If we’re going to sell her on Philadelphia, that’s what she just has to see.” She took his hand again. “I do know that you’re not open to the public, but do you think you could make just the tiniest of exceptions to let her see this piece of history while she’s here? If she doesn’t, she may never visit her aunt again, and what a shame that would be.”