Pauline : The Party

Dear Readers:

This is a working copy of my first short story. Driven by images and people in my family that I very much wanted to share with you. The characters are all real, the names have changed even though most or all of them are now long departed.

Enjoy!

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She looked at her reflection in the mirror for a couple of minutes before adjusting her collar one more time. She gazed dutifully at her husband who was preparing for yet another mission with the Navy. It was two weeks before Christmas 1963, and Athens was deep in the throes of the pre-holiday festivities. The family held a huge party every year and everyone dressed up in their most elegant gowns. Pauline had placed her pearls just so, put on her bright red lipstick and wondered if he noticed her at all any more. She pressed her lips together, which accentuated her dimples, opened her little golden pill box, and stared for what seemed like an eternity at those little white pills.

Never mind, she thought. He will notice my beautiful new dress when he gets back. “Have a safe trip darling,” she purred in her husky voice. Putting down the pill box she opened her cigarette case instead – the one with the dancing lady he got for her in Paris this past spring. She lit the cigarette and slowly let the smoke fill her lungs. He finished packing his suitcase and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “See you in two weeks, Stefane my boy!” he told his son, and rustled the boy’s hair as he walked out the door. She took a deep breath as his cologne lingered and blended with the smoke in the air.

 

Lefteris made sure she and their son were well taken care of. Stefane was now almost four years old and very much attached to his mother; his father was away so often the boy sometimes didn’t recognize him even when he was there. She scolded him as his small hands pulled at her dress, calling “Mama! Mama!”, insisting that she pay attention to the new toy his father had brought back from England. There was always a plethora of toys, gifts, and expensive dresses; Lefteris made up for his absence with things, but never an embrace, a kiss, a hug – that was too frivolous for him. He was not an affectionate husband or father. By all accounts he was a hard man to understand and an even harder one to please.

She often tried to get closer to him, but he didn't want an overly expressive wife to embarrass him in public. “Stop kissing me Pauline, you are looking ridiculous! Do you see any of the other wives, slobbering over their husbands like that?” He had said this once as he pushed her away from his embrace, walking ahead to greet his brother-in-law. She tried so hard to be liked. She made every effort to be proper, sweet and pleasing, but it didn't make a difference.

When she married him she was much older than the average marrying age at the time. Turning 29 and still unwed,  she was pressured by her family. A child of divorced parents, a stigma among many that she bore as a young woman, she accepted Lefteris offer, which seemed to be more of a contract than a marriage proposal. He was 40, well-to-do, and dapper, and she knew he would provide her a comfortable life.

Her mother-in-law Angelika, a strong and protective woman, and certainly didn’t think Pauline was good enough for her firstborn. Angelika had invested everything she had in him when the family lost all its money in her husband’s failed business ventures. Her son was her pride and joy. He took after her in his austere look and disciplined lifestyle. He held the family together financially through the Second World War and long after the allies declared peace in 1943. For two decades after the war he had been the prime bread winner of his family. “She’s a tramp!” Angelika would say, over and over. “How could he bring this imbecile into my home? She doesn’t cook, she spends all his money on dresses and hairdos, and she drinks like a sailor at every gathering.” Angelika tolerated her daughter-in-law only because she adored her grandson, that sweet little boy, with the same sweet dimples, he looked so much like his mother it was uncanny.

At public functions and dinners in the family home, Pauline would often sit alone in the kitchen, gazing at the tall eucalyptus tree in the front yard, listening to the leaves swishing and swaying in the wind. She was certain that tree spoke to her, and she would move to its rhythm. She would lose herself in thought as she gazed at its leaves fluttering back and forth in their intoxicating dance. Her sister-in-law Penelope didn’t pay much attention to her, nor did the rest of the family. They called her crazy behind her back. They made jokes about her, scoffed at her dresses and over-the-top hairstyles. But she didn’t care. She closed her eyes, drank her sherry from a little green glass, took a deep breath and smiled.