One Brief Shining Moment

008. 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞 𝐉𝐚𝐜𝐤

July 24th, 1963

The streets of Washington were lit dimly the night of the dinner, the black car that shuttled Father and I towards the docks speeding past dark buildings and people milling about on the riverfront. Wednesday night had come more quickly than I had imagined it would, and I was certainly not mentally prepared for the evening. I had shuffled into the back of the limousine haphazardly, sitting rigidly in my seat. I had picked out a rich robin's egg blue evening dress for the occasion, pearls wrapped tightly around my neck and white gloves fixed upon my forearms. My hair had been pulled up into an elegant style by Loretta, my makeup applied artfully so as Evangeline stood watching, making harsh directions every so often. Even if she was not allowed to go to this important gala, she had still hovered over me menacing, stating that she wouldn't let me embarrass the family by looking like a 'painted whore' as I recall. By the time the ordeal was over and I had been spritzed with some Chanel N⁰ 5, I was the picture of elegance and grace. On the inside however, my heart beat anxiously and I had been desperately trying to devise a plan to slip away early on in the evening. I remember distinctly the feeling of watching out the window as dark faces flashed past my view, my eyes trained on the river not far away wondering if I ought to get out of the car then and just jump in.

Although I had been practically enamored to have had received an invitation by the President himself, that floating and giddy feeling was long gone. It had been quickly replaced with the usual feeling that social situations often gave me, sinking deep into my stomach. My muscles were tight and sore, my legs clenched out of habit underneath my dress and my toes curling in tightly inside my heels. My fingernails picked at my gloves out of habit, and I had been trying very hard not to bite my lip so much that it would bleed. I had loathed gatherings like that, and all the uncomfortable situations they brought. Being towed around a ball room while important people appraised me in front of my Father, sizing up my worth and scrutinizing me, trying to find some flaw to latch on to so that they could feel better about themselves. 

That was how society worked back then though. 

It was a constant cattle show of dinners and galas, people judging one another silently as they sipped on wine and made small talk about boating and horse-racing and whose son just got a promotion. These thoughts were never voiced of course, Evangeline had schooled that into us rigidly. No social blunders could be afforded, and to most we appeared to be a kind and gracious family. But even as a young child, I had understood the rule that once we were in the car, anything went. Evangeline's tongue would loosen and she would not pause to comment on the new size of a woman's hips, or that she had heard through her circle that her second husband was not doubt having an affair with his secretary and would leave her soon. Though I found it horrid, I never had the heart to challenge Evangeline on her polite masquerade, even with my general distaste for everything she did.

By the time the evening was over, I was usually exhausted, and only wanted the comfort that solitude could bring me.

And by the time the car had rolled up at the car circle near the entrance to the docks, a similar feeling of exhaustion had already washed over me. Father must have sensed my nerves, after all he had raised me, and put a hand gently on the top of my hand as the driver got out to open our doors.

"It'll be fine Elizabeth, I promise." He'd said, that kind demeanor he often reserved for me filling his voice "If it's as terrible as you've imagined, I can always feign another heart attack."

I'd cracked a smile, feeling a wave of gratitude for my Father as he stepped elegantly out of the car. I turned to my right, taking one long breath before my car door was swung open, a bath of light illuminating my surroundings from the lanterns that lit the pathway. I reached for my Father's outstretched hand, allowing him to pull out of the car. A mountain of flashing lights hit my eyes, but Father lead me toward the path quickly. I tucked my arm into the crook of his elbow as always, my other hand gripping my handbag tightly as I focused on my own footsteps. The pathway onto the docks seemed agonizingly long, but eventually we made it to the stairs were other guests were filing in, a butler handing us two glasses of expensive champagne as we climbed the steps onto the yacht.