The It Girl and Me

Chapter Three

Chapter ThreeLOS ANGELES CENTRAL POST OFFICE,

October 1923

“I think you dropped this.”

At first, I only saw my pink claim slip in his hands, but then I looked up into the bluest eyes I’d ever seen.

Once a week, I’d stop by the post office at Temple and Spring for Vi, to pick up her shipments from the founder’s shop. That day I’d come by after my shift was up.

“Thanks,” I mumbled. I felt too embarrassed to say more, in case the man could see how attracted I was to his tousled light brown hair and those gorgeous eyes. I imagined that beneath his beige suit, he had a lean athletic body like a statue of a Greek god. I saw one in a book once.

“You’re welcome. You an actress?” He beamed at me, showing a dazzling white smile.

“No,” I said.

“You’re pretty enough to be an actress.”

I felt my face go hot.

Daisy DeBoe, are you blushing?

The clerk called my number, so I collected my wits and went to the counter to pick up my box. At the next counter, he bought stamps and tucked them into his jacket pocket. We finished at the same time and laughed.

“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” he asked.

I nodded. “Sure,” I managed to squeak out.

The Owl drugstore was down the street, so we strolled there and he gallantly carried my package. Unlike me, he could have been an actor. Good-looking guy like that in Hollywood? Why isn’t he in the flickers?

“I’m Ray Martell,” he said, offering the hand that wasn’t carrying the package.

I gave it a little shake. “Daisy DeBoe,” I said as we had a seat at the lunch counter.

“Hi, Ray. What can I get you?” said the lunch counter attendant.

“Hiya, Joe,” Ray replied. “Two coffees and”—he glanced at me—“two slices of apple pie?”

“That sounds good,” I said with a smile. “You from California originally?”

“No, I was born in Minnesota. Family came over from France back in the early days when they were still fighting Injuns and trying not to get scalped. Supposedly, we go all the way back to Charles Martell the French king.”

Joe returned in a few minutes with our coffee and pie.

“We’ve got some French too, on my Paw’s side,” I said. “Do you speak French?” I poured in some sugar and stirred for a moment, my spoon tinkling against the cup.

“Nah. We had some family in Quebec, though. Visited when I was young. Could never understand what the hell they were saying. But I did love the Midwest. Ice skating, hockey games on the frozen pond, and sledding at Beard’s Plaisance.” He added some cream but no sugar, then took a bite of pie.

“Dressing up like an Eskimo every day of the year? No thanks,” I said, sipping my coffee.

His laughed. “All right, you got me,” he said. “We moved to California for the weather. How about you? Where you from?”

I told him of my roots in Kentucky, the family’s move to St. Louie, and the latest trek to California. “Now I work at Vi’s Beauty Shop on Broadway. What about you? What do you do?”

“I’m a demonstrator for Rolls-Royce,” he said, taking a sip. “I drive the cars around and show them off to people. There’s the one I’m in now.” He pointed out the window to a long shimmery silver car—the fanciest one on the block.

“Like the flicker stars drive,” I said. “Have you met any?” I took a bite of my pie.

“Sure,” he said like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Who?”

He thought a moment. “The Talmadge sisters, Richard Barthelmess. And I personally handed Mr. Charlie Chaplin his keys.”

“Must be exciting,” I said. “Meeting the stars like that.”

We talked of our lives and our dreams for the future. Ray wanted to be an actor, like everyone in Hollywood.

“I’m going to make it big,” he said. “Just you watch. I want to buy one of those nice mansions over in Beverly Hills, with a maid and a gardener and my own personal Rolls-Royce instead of the borrowed ones I drive now.”

My dreams were a little more down to earth—I wanted to have my own shop like Vi. Then I could get some fancy business cards like hers that would say, “Daisy DeBoe— Daisy’s Harper Method Beauty Shop.” Even though the Pink Pinafore Girls were far away, I wanted to be sure that if I ever ran into another one I’d have nice clothes, a nice car, and a nice life. Then no one could make fun of me or my Kentucky roots, ever again.

Ray had an easygoing way about him, and he made me laugh. “This was fun,” he said.

“I think so too.”

“I’d like to see you again,” he said. “I hope I’m not being too forward.” He wiped his lips after his last bite of pie.

“Not too forward at all,” I said. I scribbled down my telephone number.

Our first official date was on a Saturday. Donald was watching at the window while I finished getting dressed. “You’re not gonna believe this!” he called. He let out a low whistle. “He’s driving a Rolls-Royce!”

“Donald Wilson DeBoe, you git away from that window.” Maw plumped the cushions on the ragged old couch and straightened the antimacassars on the backs of the green chairs. “Don’t embarrass yer sister.”

Ray arrived at the door with two bouquets—one for me and one for Maw. I introduced him around, and Maw and Paw gave me glowing looks. Ray and I turned to go.

“Y’all have a good time now,” Maw called.

Ray opened the car door like a gentleman, and I ran my hand over the rich leather seat—soft and creamy like Maw’s chess pie. He accelerated smoothly, rounding the turns that took us out to Santa Monica Boulevard, and we followed it to Venice Beach.

We placed bets on the monkey auto races and rode the Dentzel carousel. Then we screamed our heads off on the Blarney Racer and the Zip rollercoaster. For dinner, we ate Wiener schnitzel and potato pancakes at the Little Hungaria Café on the oceanfront promenade, and then we caught a romantic sunset ride on one of the gondolas. It was the most amazing day of my life.

On our next date, we went to Santa Monica, soaking up the sun and playing in the surf for hours. That was the first time he kissed me, in his latest demonstrator—a dove-gray, straight-off-the-line 1924 model with shiny silver knobs and fixtures.

Ray took me to the Pig ’N Whistle and bought me chocolate-covered cherries, and he always came to the door with two bouquets. Maw was charmed. She wouldn’t have been quite as happy if she’d known we were sneaking out to the speaks around town, sharing sweet kisses afterward.

He took me to meet his parents, Philip and Annie, when we went for dinner at their place on 4th Street near Beaudry. Annie made a roast chicken and buttered peas with cloverleaf rolls, with a lemon meringue pie for dessert.

“That’s an old Springfield rifle from the 3rd Minnesota Regiment,” Philip said, pointing at the old Civil War-era gun that still hung above the fireplace with pride. “My pa fought those rebs all over Kentucky. Got captured by Nathan Bedford Forrest and sent to a prison camp early on. Pa was one of the few boys who came home from there. Paid for it the rest of his life. War wounds and rheumatism.”

I didn’t dare tell him the 3rd Minnesota had camped all around Grandpappy DeBoe’s property. They’d stolen the crops and livestock and burned the barn down for firewood, the vultures. Ray and I gave each other a look, then I made up a story about being from St. Louie originally.

When Annie looked at me, I felt like she knew I was a fraud—that my people were rebs and jailbirds. I’d worked hard to lose my Kentucky accent, but every once in a while, I’d surprise myself when a short word came out with a long drawl or a “y’all” escaped without my thinking about it. Maybe she was just overprotective because Ray was her only son, but I wasn’t sure.

One night Ray and I took a walk on the beach in Santa Monica before he parked the car overlooking the waves. We both knew it was time. My hands shook as I unbuttoned his shirt buttons and slowly kissed my way down his chest. He lay back with his eyes closed, from time to time pulling me up to kiss his lips instead. Then he decided he could wait no longer and placed my hand over the V on his trousers. He moved beneath it, beckoning me to free him from the barrier that kept us apart. I did and he moaned a little.

“You’re a wicked girl, Daisy DeBoe,” he whispered. “Don’t know if I can wait much longer.”

I was having trouble waiting myself, although I wasn’t sure what for. I pulled up my dress and slip and unhooked my stockings from their garters. Ray grabbed me as I giggled, flipped me onto my back on the seat, and showed me my prize. Rather than feeling scared, I considered it a big adventure, even though it hurt like hell.

The next morning, as the sun glinted through the blinds, I lay in bed thinking.

Grace turned to face me and propped her head up on her hand. “How was your date?” she said. “Paw was pacing. Must have been pretty good.”

“I could ask you the same thing,” I said. Grace had a new fellow too.

“Come on,” she said. “Sisters tell each other everything! I told you.”

“All right,” I said, sitting up and pulling the covers over my legs. I couldn’t hold the news in anymore. “We did it.”

“How was it?”

“Grace, it hurt so bad.”

“Yeah, it does. But it gets better the more you do it. Trust me. Charlie and me just keep practicing and practicing.” She raised a suggestive eyebrow.

“Don’t you dare tell Maw and Paw,” I said.

“That goes double for you.”

Charlie Black was a plumber our neighbor Mr. Grovier had recommended when a big clog in our bathroom sink needed attention. He was a looker with a mop of dark hair and dark eyes, and Grace hovered around him like a schoolgirl. His voice was flat and Midwestern, no-nonsense, and full of familiar slang. “Could you hand me that wrench from my bag?” he’d ask, then he’d chuckle as Grace handed him a pipe holder instead.

Charlie flirted with her, but rather than getting protective Paw was amused. After he found out Charlie was originally from Missouri, he was practically family. Before he left that first afternoon, Charlie had our telephone number.

When Paw had problems with the still pipes clogging, he dared to ask his new friend for assistance.

“Hard water,” Charlie said. “It’s real bad here. Causes scale in the pipes. I’ve got something I can use to clean them out.”

In return for his help, Paw cut Charlie in for some product and a percentage of the profits. To hear Grace tell it, Charlie was quite good at laying pipe.

I wasn’t sure what it was, but something about Charlie rubbed me the wrong way. He seemed a little too friendly. A little too polite. A little too nice not to be up to something. But it didn’t matter what I thought, though. Paw liked him, and Grace was in love. They got engaged, then hitched in November of 1923.

Seeing Grace and Charlie tie the knot gave Ray ideas, and that Christmas he popped the question too. We got ourselves a Presbyterian minister to say our service in March of 1924 and rented an apartment in a buff-colored stucco bungalow court on East 20th Street. It wasn’t much, but it was home.