“Why not?” I asked.
She smiled at me shyly. “I’m so blind without glasses, I’m afraid I might marry the wrong man.”
She may have been as nearsighted as she claimed, but it hadn’t affected the appearance of her eyes. Without the glasses on I was startled to discover they had the depth and color of sapphires.
Spontaneously I said, “Why you have beautiful eyes, Helen.”
Helen turned bright red. Her gaze darted in all directions in an attempt to cover her embarrassment at the unexpected compliment, which in all likelihood was the first bit of flattery she had ever heard from a man.
Mavis’s lips thinned into a disapproving line. I gave her a sharp glance and she smoothed the expression away. With an effort to sound friendly, she said, “You do have pretty eyes, Helen. It’s a shame you have to wear glasses.”
The rest of the day Helen was kept fairly busy. After breakfast I took her downtown, applied for a license and we had our blood tests. That took most of the morning. In the afternoon Mavis took her to an optician, where a long wait, the eye examination and the selection of frames used up most of the rest of the day.
Helen readily agreed to my suggestion that she return to St. Joseph only long enough to pack and close out her bank account. I decided to drive her up on Friday morning instead of sending her by bus, as it was only fifty-two miles. Dewey decided he’d go back too in order to pack his own stuff instead of making Helen do it, and as Mavis didn’t care to be left all alone, in the end all four of us went.
I wasn’t enthusiastic about being seen by anyone Helen and Dewey knew, but the risk wasn’t too great. She and Dewey had no really close friends, and apparently not even many acquaintances aside from their landlady. Mavis and I avoided meeting the landlady by the simple expedient of waiting in the car while Helen and Dewey collected their things and said good-by to the woman.
They didn’t seem to have many worldly possessions. Dewey lugged out only two large suitcases and one small one to load in the trunk.
Dewey, Mavis and I all waited in the car when Helen went into the bank to close out her account. When she came out, she proudly showed me the bank draft.
She had had it made out to Mrs. Helen Howard.
“How are you going to cash it if I leave you waiting at the altar?” I asked her teasingly.
Her face fell, and for a moment I thought she didn’t know I was joking. Then she said timidly, “I really haven’t the right to use the name yet, have I?” and I realized she was only concerned because I might think her too forward.
I said with a smile, “It’ll be your legal name by the time you get around to cashing it in Westfield. I’m not going to leave you at the altar.”
It amused me that she actually looked relieved.
Chapter XV
On the way back to Kansas City I casually delved into what Helen had told people in St. Joseph about her plans.
I learned she had told her landlady she was getting married and moving to New York State, but hadn’t told her to whom, or where in New York State. She hadn’t mentioned anything at all to anyone else.
That afternoon, while I lined up a justice of the peace who was willing to marry us on Sunday, Mavis took Helen shopping for her trousseau. Whatever they bought, they didn’t bring it back to the hotel with them, for Helen returned wearing the same shapeless dress she’d had on when we met and had worn ever since. She seemed quite excited, however, though she refused any information aside from a mysterious reference to some alterations being made.
Saturday was the big day for Helen. She went off with Mavis right after breakfast, announcing that she wouldn’t be back until five P.M. When I inquired what was going to take all day, Mavis explained that they had to pick up the new glasses, had several clothes fittings scheduled, and that Helen had a three-o’clock hairdressing appointment.
Helen was wide-eyed with excitement.
“I’ve never before been in a beauty shop,” she confessed naïvely just before she and Mavis left.
My slightly ill-fitting suit having served its purpose of not making me look too smooth to be believable, I got out the plain dark business suit I’d also brought along and sent it out to be pressed. It too was ready-made, but of good quality and fit. A slight increase in sleekness can be expected of a man on his wedding day.
Then I got a haircut, taking Dewey along with me in the hope that he’d do the same. He didn’t take the hint, however, but sat and read comic books while he waited. When I stepped out of the chair, I decided to employ a frontal attack.
“Aren’t you going to get your hair cut for the wedding?” I asked him.
“Huh?” he said.
Getting up, he looked in a mirror, seemed surprised at the length of his hair and climbed into the barber chair I had vacated without further comment.
I told the barber to cut it close.
The result was remarkable. With a decent haircut the boy would have been almost handsome except for the stupid look on his face.
Dewey had worn the same shiny blue serge suit he had on when we met ever since I had known him. It was much too tight and sadly in need of pressing. I asked him if he wanted to get it pressed before the wedding.
“I got another one up in my room that’s already pressed,” he said.
Nothing could turn him into a sleek and sophisticated best man, nor hide his farm upbringing, I realized. But seemingly he was at least going to make the attempt to be presentable.
My preparations for the wedding didn’t take nearly as long as Helen’s. I was all through by eleven o’clock in the morning. I spent a dreary day in Dewey’s company.
I didn’t know what Helen’s habits were, but Mavis was always prompt. When she said they’d be back at five, I knew she meant right on the dot.
I decided to wait for them in the lobby.
Dewey had gone up to his room, finally, and left me to enjoy the lack of his company. At five I was waiting alone by the cigar counter, a spot which gave me a good view of both the front and side doors into the lobby. I’d been there about five minutes, glancing up each time either door opened, but it was always someone else coming in.
Exactly at five the revolving door at the side of the lobby spun, and I glanced that way expecting to see Helen and Mavis. But it was a woman alone, a slim and sleek blonde with an upsweep hairdo and harlequin glasses, dressed in a clinging white knit suit and a yellow three-quarter length coat which hung open to show the smooth lines of her body. Idly I admired her figure as she crossed the lobby, then my admiration turned to faint puzzlement.
Part of my puzzlement was due to the way she was teetering on her high heels, as though she found balance difficult and was in danger of turning an ankle at any moment. The rest was due to the fact that she was bearing directly at me.
When she got within five feet, my puzzlement turned to utter astonishment. The woman was Helen Larson, and she was very nearly a raving beauty.
Stopping directly in front of me, she smiled tentatively. I made no attempt to close my mouth as I slowly looked her over from head to foot.
Mavis’s taste in clothes had always been excellent, but this time she had outdone herself. I had expected her to find Helen something which would compliment her figure. But the knit dress did more than just flatter it. Helen’s figure didn’t need flattery. The dress clung to her body, revealing everything the shapeless sack she had worn previously concealed.
The concealment had been a crime.
High-heeled shoes rounded out calves as perfect as a Varga girl’s, and they were encased in sheer nylon instead of the drab cotton she had worn that morning. But the most startling change was from the neck up.