Sequence of Events (part eight)

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Sequence of Events

Chapter Two

Mud in Your Eye

 

i.

 

 

Luberta Bragg was going out as a woman.

The netted chignon was affixed to the headpiece; the headpiece was an evening cap like a wedge of orange…or lemon, she ought to say. Her theme this night was yellow. Desanges had wanted her in a pale, glowing fabric.

More to the point, he’d wanted money spent, one hundred dollars of it, and had written her the check.

Even as an awkward debutante, she would not have worn what was being hooked-and-eyed into place over her padded hips: a buttery taffeta, with chiffon froufrou at the neckline, tickling her chin.

Her partner framed her lower half with his hands. “So. A blank canvas, you understand me.”

She was to place herself, standing, behind a certain individual, who ought at the crucial moment to be sitting. That was all. Luberta didn’t question Desanges.

He inclined his torso, inspecting the join where her hair attached. He nudged Clara aside, exposing a crescent of clean veneer from a film of powder.

In the mirror she met his gaze. “Boardman, I’ve heard, is not well liked.”

“I believe he treats the help badly. But you are not trying to impress him.”

She said, just to be clear: “I’m not wearing her. A full wig is too much with a hat.”

“No, I don’t suggest it.”

She would, however, impress Boardman. After she had seen him, watched him, noticed all that Boardman himself noticed. Talou could be any sort of young man, to suit any customer, just as Luberta could be any sort of woman.

But…

She had her limits. She would be thirty-nine this year. Talou was of course much younger (twenty-six was how she thought of him.) The Bragg line had gifted its daughter with social status, on which she traded freely—

And with a face that was not round, not small-chinned, doll-eyed, or button-nosed, but opposite all those things. She knew Luberta was not desperately plain, but only Talou had beauty.

“Desanges,” she said, and stopped herself. She opened a pot of paint, swirled the brush in the air, inviting his opinion. “Would a red lip be best with yellow?”

“I would not wear color at all.”

He could weigh such cosmetic variables without irony. “You are accompanying Mr. Planter to this affair. You will go as yourself. You must consider…what expectation will Boardman have when Planter introduces you?”

 

 

8

 

 

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A Personal Choice

Sequence of Events (part one)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Stephanie Foster, 2017, 2021, 2026)