Nurses went in and out of my parents’ bedroom, speaking in hushed whispers. Nonetheless they had planned a party for later that week. They loved parties and Annette didn’t want it canceled. The party began before my bedtime, so I was allowed downstairs when the guests arrived.
Everyone was drinking, talking, and laughing. Rex played the charming host. There was no sign of Annette. People whispered about how ill she was and whether she would or could appear. Suddenly there she was on the balcony, a tall, thin, wan figure clad in a long-sleeved, emerald-green velvet negligee, nipped in at the waist, with giant gold buttons down the front and matching gold, high-heeled mules. Her chestnut hair was perfectly combed and curled and her lips painted just the right red for her pale skin. She took hold of the railing and started down the stairs. I ran to the bottom steps and buried my face in the soft velvet of her long skirt when she came within reach.
A new drug called penicillin had saved her life.
* * *
Generally I was left in the care of a series of nurses and maids. My first nurse, Mimi, was statuesque in her starched white uniform, white stockings, and white gum-soled shoes. She took me for rides on the swan boats in the Public Garden and read to me from Make Way for Ducklings. But Annette fired Mimi for killing a plant given to her by an admirer by watering it with vinegar. Then came Kathleen, who was as dark and mean as Mimi had been pale and beatific. Kathleen was handsome and strict. She had little time for my antics. Kathleen’s weakness was the Catholic Church, where she often took me. I liked the smell of the incense and the candles and the thin chains with little medallions of the Blessed Virgin that were liberally distributed by the priests. Rex hated the church, any church, and ripped the medallions off my neck if he caught me wearing one. He was convinced Kathleen was a part-time hooker. Annette took a more conciliatory stance. We were still on rations. It was wartime. One had to make do.
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