The life of Sandy Rose

Chapter 31: January 1927

"Isn't there a way to cover it up?" her husband used one hand to cup her chin and he glided his thumb over her bottom lip. She winced slightly, closing her eyes, because she didn't want to look at his face.
"I'd have to put lipstick on," Sandy uttered, she could feel the tautness of her lip as she talked and she wanted to weep. Her husband didn't look pleased by her suggestion however.
"No makeup," he reminded her firmly. She stayed quiet, knowing he wouldn't take kindly to any other things she'd say.

Things had been going fine between them for almost three weeks, after he had gotten on one knee and slid a bracelet, made of real lapis lazuli and ivory, onto her slender wrist in remorse. It was a charming piece and she loved how smooth the beads felt. She was careful not to wear it when she held her son, for he grabbed at things and pulled tightly, like her hair, and he wouldn't always let go so easily.
Earlier in the day, she had been talking to Mary on the phone and Ronnie had told her to "stop gossiping and get off the phone." She had told him to wait a moment and he, instead of heeding her, had snatched the receiver from her hand harshly and slammed it down. She had gotten annoyed at that, and decided to storm upstairs, where he promptly slapped her multiple times. He had held her down in a way that she couldn't even struggle, so she had no choice but to take all the slaps to her face. One had not been simply a slap however. She felt a blow plummet down onto her lip, and she had tasted the metallic tang of blood in her mouth.
He hadn't yet apologised for this, but she didn't actually want one. Her jewellery drawers were filling. With gifts she seldom wanted to look at, knowing why she came to posses them in the first place. She found it funny that her husband felt this was how to let her know how sorry he was. By how many diamonds he could buy her. She didn't like diamonds. She didn't much care for fancy jewels that cost as much as her pay check for more than half a year. She had yet to believe how sorry he was. She couldn't be so sure anymore.

Now they were to sit to dinner with a business associate of Ronnie's, but he had sprung it up on her so quickly. Yet, she couldn't find it in herself to voice any displeasure.
"Ron, I can't hide it any other way," she told him, "I'll wipe it off as soon as we're done, ok?"
"I said no makeup," he repeated, a finger at her face as if he were a teacher telling off his student. He turned her this way and that like a rag doll. She watched his face harden as he stared at her backside, "God Sandy, why do you have to look like this?"
She was now confused. He had always called her body beautiful. What did he want from her? Would he prefer it if no one else looked at her? If she were invisible? Only appearing when he wanted her to.
"I'll change if you want, Ron," she said meekly, but he sighed.
"Just leave it, they'll be here any minute." Just as he said that, the bell rang, "Fuck," he growled, "Just walk behind us." She nodded. He was going to leave her, but then he sighed again, "Where's the lipstick then?"
She went to the little draw under the dresser and pulled out a red, "Not red, you're not trying to fuck him are you?" he asked harshly.
She turned again to pick out a pink instead, dabbing so it looked natural. After, he nodded approval, "Good. Come on. And smile."

She did. It was all she knew how to do. That was what her husband told her once. It wasn't kindly either. He seemed, when he got mad, to want to lower her self esteem so much at that moment she would never recover, but she always did. And she always went back to him.
"Petey, this is Sandy, Sandy baby, this is Pete Malloy," Ronnie slightly pushed his wife forward. She shook Petey's hand. He had a kind smile, and took his fedora off, holding it to his chest as he gazed at her.
"She's mighty pretty, Ron," Petey quipped, "How did ya snatch her?"
"He didn't snatch me," Sandy asserted, to which the men just laughed.
"She's feisty, I like her," Petey let Fifi take his hat and coat, while Vera took his wife's coat. Sandy smiled at the woman, who smiled back. She was older, probably by maybe six years, Sandy guessed.
She was tall and slender, skinny as a twig, so Sandy gazed upon her with immense fascination, for she didn't know that a woman could be so skinny.
"Belinda," the lady said.
"Sandy," Sandy nodded, shaking her hand, "Welcome."

The men went off to talk, like men do, so Sandy found herself on her own to entertain Belinda. She didn't mind. Sandy knew how to be friendly.
"Would you like something to drink?" she asked, gesturing towards the kitchens.
"Perhaps some white wine," Belinda smiled, but she took Sandy's arm, "Is there something wrong with your lip, sweetheart?"
Sandy shook her head, "No, I guess it feels a little chapped; it is quite chilly in here," Sandy said, leading Belinda to the second bar room. However, Belinda was hardly convinced.
"He didn't hit you did he?"
"Who?" Sandy asked, playing the fool.
"Ronald," Belinda pressed, "Did he split your lip?"
"He didn't," Sandy reached for a bottle of white. She didn't know her wines, even though her husband had tried to teach her a little something, and so did Rogers, but Sandy knew what she'd be interested in and stuck with that, disregarding much else. She simply didn't think it was necessary. Yet, she knew her whites from reds, like everyone else.
She popped the bottle and grabbed a glass from the cabinet.
"Aren't you having any, Sandy?"
"No," she shook her head. She needed her head to be as clear as possible.
"Is it because of that baby of yours? Made you lose your taste for it darling?"
"Not really," Sandy replied, "I've regained taste for it, just not now."
"Me and Peter have three of our own."
"Three?" Sandy was a little shocked.
"Yes, two girls and a little boy."
"Well," Sandy muttered, "Aren't you tired?"
"Not particularly, we have nannies. Don't you?"
"Yes," Sandy answered. She didn't mind looking after her own child, she'd prefer it, but her husband had said it wasn't proper for her to do so. Her place was beside him.
More like under him, she thought. She almost shivered.

She didn't want to eat when it was time, yet she knew that not eating wouldn't make her feel any better. She wondered if her husband would let her go upstairs early, but his hand was firmly on her leg, so she felt she couldn't get free.
She knew she didn't like this Petey fellow either. He glanced at her like a child eyeing a slice of cake. It unsettled her, especially with his wife right beside him. Only, she looked unfazed, occupied with eating her food. Sandy hated situations like these, where the wives felt compelled to eat only when the husbands made a move. She'd push a guy away just at the moment his lady turned to look and then Sandy was for it.

She was rid of him soon after, where she sighed and told her husband she was going to bed.
"Why so soon Sandy?" he asked, hand on the banister, "Come," he beckoned her.
"Ronnie..." she took another step up the stairs, " I didn't do anything."
Only, he chuckled, "I'm not mad with you baby," he assured her, "Come."
She dithered, but approached him. She let him pull her to him and kiss her lips. He tugged at her hand, pulling her into the lounge. He went to sit at the grand piano and her face lit up. He turned and saw. He laughed, "Come on Sandy-Rose, sit by me."
She went to sit beside him excitedly. She loved hearing him play. It was where she truly saw what he was good at. And he seemed to enjoy it too. She clasped her hands as his fingers flexed over the keys. She glanced at his face and he caught her gaze. He kissed her nose and she suddenly forgot about all the things he did that made her cry. She forgot so much, she pulled him up the stairs, where they made love all night.