2. Memories of Better Days
Eleanor hailed a cab and, hurriedly packed suitcase in hand, Cora reluctantly climbed in behind her.
The last time Cora had even spoken to her uncle Carl was four years before and what she remembered was that Carl was loud and fairly obnoxious. Her mother still mentioned him in passing from time to time, albeit in a derogatory manner.
The man was a movie producer and when Max had been alive, his little brother had been a regular dinner guest. He bought with him countless tales of his mishaps in movie making, which had made Cora's father roar with laughter and her mother purse her lips and frown. To Eleanor, Carl Denham was an embarrassment, put up with simply because he was family.
"Mother…" Cora decided to attempt one last time to change Eleanor's mind. "Mrs Layton will be back before you know it. I'll be quite all right on my own."
"See, I wish I could believe that." Eleanor replied as she rummaged about in her handbag. In her youth she had often been called beautiful, and had aged with the kind of fear that made women of her class become heavily dependent on product and fashion to remain what society would call 'a beauty'. Her auburn hair was never out of place, and her emerald green eyes were still sharp and all-seeing as they ever were whilst hunting husbands of her own.
Her eldest daughter Sadie took after her in looks, and to Eleanor's delight the studious child had eventually given way to a charming young woman. Cora however, she felt was lacking in several areas. She considered her second daughter 'reserved', which she used as euphemism for 'sullen', or more often than not 'difficult'.
"But Cora," She continued, snapping the bag shut, satisfied with its contents "I remember what you did last time I left." She turned her cold green eyes on her daughter. "Believe me, you have brought this upon yourself."
The last time. That last time nearly six years ago, when Maxwell Denham had been found dead on the floor of a Californian hotel room by the hysterical maid, struck down by a major heart attack.
The last time, when Eleanor had taken to her bed for weeks, leaving her two daughters in the care of the housekeeper, the elder burying herself in her books, desensitising herself to the evils of the world, and the younger running wild in a children's gang. Staying out all hours, learning how to use her fists, to curse, and to throw herself into a different world because the real world was just too much…
Cora sighed resignedly and glanced out of the cab window at the city outside. Her eyes glazed slightly, as if in protest of the sights sliding past. The boarded up businesses.
The Vaudeville Theater, where she, Alice and Violet had seen the show in a half empty auditorium only a week ago. They had laughed themselves silly and then sat in a nearby café for hours after, gossiping and drinking coffee. Now the theater was gone too. Another victim of the economic climate.
"So." Violet set down her cup and dabbed at her lips with a napkin. "Has your dear mother found you another suitor yet?"
Cora snorted. "Oh my goodness. Don't even…" She flapped a hand dismissively "Just don't!"
"Oooh! Do tell, do tell!" Violet trilled as Alice giggled from behind her own cup, elbows tucked tight to her sides and looking every inch like her Wonderland namesake.
"His name was Nathaniel." Cora began. "Nathaniel Mosely…"
"Sounds mysterious!" Violet interjected, with an air of scandal to her tone.
"Sounds horrendous!" Cora shot back. "He was awful! As awful as the rest, if not worse! Mother insists on dragging up all these weedy little creeps with greasy hair and clammy little hands, that have never worked an honest day in their lives."
"So…" Violet replied carefully. "Not your type?"
The three girls burst into laughter. "You can say that again!" Cora squeaked.
"Not your type?"
"You can say that again!"
"Not your-"
"Oh stop, stop!" Alice cried, breaking up their little routine. "I can't bear it!"
"But what is your type I wonder…" Said Violet, resting an elbow on the table and tucking her chin into her hand. "Perhaps some romantic poet?"
"Or a charismatic shop keep!" Alice suggested. "Most unsuitable for a girl like you!"
Cora rolled her eyes "I don't have a type, you are both being ridiculous!"
"Ignore her Alice." Violet declared, gesturing dramatically. "When Cora gets her most unsuitable boy, we'll be the first to know."
"Here we are." Eleanor announced stiffly.
Cora broke out of her memories with a jolt to see they had finally pulled up in front of a set of apartment buildings. She grabbed the handle of her suitcase and stepped out onto the sidewalk, pulling her blue wool coat closer around her as Eleanor strode purposefully to the door and rang the bell, repeatedly.
"Come along, come along…" she muttered irately, still ringing with gusto.
A second storey window suddenly flung open with a clatter, and the head of a round faced man with hair the same shade as Cora's fathers poked out. "What?"
"I beg your pardon." Cora corrected him under her breath, smiling weakly at her own feeble joke. She would have recognised her uncle anywhere.
"Caaaarl!" Eleanor stood back and bellowed up at him. "It's me, Eleanor! I need a favour!"
Visibly paling at the sight of his sister-in-law, Carl Denham slammed the window shut again. Cora was almost convinced that he was now hiding, had he not appeared at the door a moment later, looking slightly more composed. "Eleanor!" He exclaimed, full of false charm. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Eleanor raked her gaze critically over him. "You're looking sharp Carl." She remarked, with the same tone a person would use when informing another of something stuck to their shoe.
Carl shifted uncomfortably, realising his charming offensive had failed. "Yeah, I got a meeting with my investors. So. What's the favour?"
Grabbing Cora by her shoulders, Eleanor thrust her daughter forward. "I need you to look after Cora for a few days."
"Wait, what?" Carl spluttered.
"I'll be fine on my own." Cora grumbled feebly, but was blithely ignored.
"Just until our housekeeper gets back in town." Eleanor continued. "Cora's not totally incapable; she just needs an eye kept on her to see she doesn't go entirely off the rails…"
"I have never been 'off the rails'!" Cora protested. "Now really Mother-!"
Eleanor dug her nails a little deeper into Cora's shoulder. "She'll be no trouble!" She insisted. "No trouble at all. You'll hardly notice her."
"No, Eleanor, you don't understand." Carl placed a hand over his eyes. "I'm busy, okay? I set sail in less than twenty four hours to film my next picture, if this meeting all goes to plan. I'll be in Singapore, El! Singapore!"
Eleanor was not persuaded "Then take her with you. She's a fine traveller. You took her to Africa all those years ago for your little safari picture and she was good as gold, was she not? 'No bother Ellie', you said so yourself." A threatening edge crept into Eleanor's tone. "Besides Carl, you still owe us for that time you upset those mobsters…"
Carl spluttered agitatedly. He knew he was cornered. "Alright, fine. Fine. But I warn you, it's not gonna be fun."
Eleanor flashed her society-ready charming smile and relinquished her vice grip on her daughter. "You're an absolute darling, Carl. I'll be back in two weeks Cora, sweetheart!" With a smart turn on her heel back to the cab, she was gone.
Cora stared after her, a tight feeling in her chest, suddenly feeling twelve years old again, her father gone for good and her mother retreated into a comatose state of private mourning. She fixed her face into a scowl, decided it preferable than displaying any other emotion she might be feeling.
"C'mon." Carl grumbled, ducking back inside briefly to fetch his trench and hat. "We're meeting my assistant in five minutes. Bring that." He pointed to Cora's suitcase.
Hitching the heavy bag into a better grip, Cora quickly followed him down the busy street. Her arm began to ache, with the burden knocking against her calves with every other step.
Carl's assistant was a young, yet long-suffering, bespectacled fellow man named Preston. Horrifically sincere and eager to please, yet there was something likable about him that Cora could not define. The three of them took a cab downtown and as they reached the offices where Carl's meeting was to be held, he turned and shoved a few dollars into her hands.
"Entertain yourself. Just make sure you're at Café Paolo at five. Got it?"
"Got it." Cora took the bills and resisted the urge to count through them in front of the two men.
"Excellent. Preston, if you would…" The two men turned and walked into the building. Cora was left with her suitcase and ten extra dollars on the sidewalk outside, feeling rather like an abandoned commodity. She sneered to herself. Was she ever anything else? She sniffed resolutely. She'd meet them all right. But first, if she was leaving for Singapore that night, she had one final errand to run.
NB: Rewritten 19/11/2015
