Well, I was going to take their advice. I was going to entertain . . .
“It’ll be a patriotic play about Lafayette,” I explained, wedging myself between two stacks of boxes near her desk. “A pageant, in fact, showing harrowing scenes of Valley Forge to remind the public how the French saved us in the darkest hours of the American Revolution. It should remind them that our positions are now reversed and our allies need our help. Ticket sales will fund our work.”
Emily’s pointed eyebrows inched higher. “If no one comes, we shall be held up to public ridicule.”
“Oh, they’ll come,” I insisted. “There isn’t a member of the Social Register who would dare miss it. Do you know why?”
“I feel certain you’ll tell me.”
“Because I am Mrs. William Astor Chanler.” Whatever the troubles in our marriage, and even if we were an ocean apart, I still had Willie’s name, and that meant something. Once the old Knickerbocker aristocracy of New York lined up behind my play, everyone else would follow suit, fearing to be left out.
Emily pursed her lips. “Who would headline the play?”
As president of the New York Stage Society, I might recruit any number of celebrities. Douglas Fairbanks. Charlie Chaplin. Lionel and John Barrymore. Still, thinking back to the railway station at Amiens, I remembered seeing a flash of Minnie. Poor little skinny Minnie, who sang and danced for her supper . . . and a better idea came to me. “I want little girls and boys for the lead roles. No one can resist tiny tots in costumes. And we’ll call it”—I made a dramatic sweeping motion—“The Children’s Revolution.”
Miss Sloane blinked, blinded by my brilliance. Or perhaps she thought me mad. In truth, the line between brilliance and madness is very thin, so I felt compelled to add, “You forget how easily I succeed in inspiring others to work. Indeed, this is my real genius; people refuse me nothing and enter with zest into all my plans and games!”
I said it to make her laugh, but Emily shook her head in complete exasperation. “We’re being attacked for defying the president of the United States, and you’re proposing a pageant for schoolchildren! Am I wrong to think that what we need most is to be taken seriously by powerful men?”
I tilted my head, imperious beneath my mink hat. “My dear, no one is better at getting the attention of powerful men than I am.”
“And you think powerful men want to attend a children’s play?”
“Heavens no! Their wives will drag them to see it. After all, the only thing society wives love better than showing off their little darlings is boasting of their blue-blooded pedigrees.” While Emily gawped, I explained, “By way of example, Mrs. Daiziel takes enormous pride in her familial connection to George Washington. I’ll be glad to cast her daughter in the prize role of Martha Washington if Mr. Daiziel makes a large donation and joins our committee.”
Emily’s eyes widened halfway between shock and admiration. “Why, there’s something quite wicked about you.”
“Oh, I’m really not such a bad creature if humored!”
Emily picked up a pencil and nibbled at the end. Preparing to be vexed, I said, “You think it can’t be done.” She continued to nibble. “You think it’s too outrageous an idea,” I accused. “Too whimsical a scheme?”
“I think we’re going to need a seamstress,” Emily finally said. “The costumes should be authentic.”
Oh, I could’ve kissed her—and not merely for going along with my plans, but for being a true partner in them. For I hadn’t felt as if I had a partner in quite some time. “Let’s take some notes, shall we?”
* * *
—
I’d long been wary of reporters, but one simply can’t do without them, so at long last, I agreed to an interview. In the airy two-tiered dining room of the Vanderbilt Hotel with its iconic potted palms, I greeted Mitzi Miller, a talented writer and prominent suffragette. None of her cigar-chomping male colleagues took her seriously, which is why she’d been shunted off to edit the society column. But I admired her work and knew, at the very least, she’d spell the name right. （Chanler, not Chandler. Once a reporter slipped a d into the name, the family never forgot or forgave.）
“Thank you for agreeing to this interview, Mrs. Chanler. I am ever so grateful for a reason to write about something other than winter balls and stylish spring weddings.”
Well, this was starting off smashingly! “I’m so glad we finally have the chance to talk.”