Chapter 14

April18, 1963

Washington, D.C.

"The drive back to Manhattan after Christmas was bittersweet as always. The beauty and serenity of the house and grounds were

always reviving, and it was especially gratifying that year because the weather was accommodating for Ethel and her new pony.

She was becoming a very good rider and I looked forward to the many times we would ride together.

"Mr.Harriman had gone back to town the day after because bank holidays never lasted for long. Ethel and I took the carriage

a day later. Of course Ethel, exhausted by new toys and the fresh air and her pony, fell asleep before we even reached the

road to town."

Sitting here in the sunroom, Daisy could almost feel the soft weight of Ethel sleeping against her, see the brightness of

the snow-covered fields through the carriage windows, the copse of evergreens standing like friendly sentinels along the way.

Such a long time ago...

Daisy roused herself. "But I digress. Of course I was looking forward to my return to the city and the New Year's Eve festivities.

And there was much to arrange for the first Colony Club meeting of the year.

"So I knew something was up when I was paid a morning call by Bessie Marbury and Sarah Hewitt—together, the very next day. Not a coincidental arrival of friends. One was a busy theatrical agent, the other a busy curator of the Cooper Hewitt decorative arts museum. And knowing that Bessie never made morning calls, I surmised that something was afoot. I immediately rang for tea and hurried to join them in the morning room."

January1905

"We've been thinking..." Bessie began as soon as Daisy entered the morning room and greetings had been exchanged. "Well,

actually we have a proposal."

"Indeed," said Daisy, and sat down to hear what it was.

"Not to put too fine a point on it, Stanny is overextended."

Daisy stifled a groan; this could not be good news.

"I just saw him the other night. Helen Whitney is pestering him to finish their house. Well, who can blame her? It's been

three years with no end in sight. But the point is, he's promised to finish it by next year." Bessie scoffed. "Not much hope

in that, I'm afraid."

"And what about the Colony Club?" Daisy asked, alarm creeping into her voice.

"I think we need to consider appointing someone else to finish the interiors and furnishings."

"I agree," added Sarah.

For a moment Daisy just stared at the other two, while her mind conjured the bedlam that such an announcement would cause.

"But he's also contracted to us."

"Yes," said Bessie. "And if you want to wait and see, we'll most likely have to postpone the opening for another year."

"...or so," Sarah put in.

"No. Absolutely not. The ladies have been good sports, but they want and need a clubhouse. A lot of money has been invested in its success. And the Princeton Club will be dancing with glee if we don't open. Not to mention the newspapers. No. We have made a promise and I, for one, intend to keep it. Though at the moment I don't see how. Do you?"

"Actually, I do. I suggest we hire Elsie in his stead."

Daisy was certain her mouth dropped open. Had Bessie lost her mind? A stupid question. Bessie never lost her mind. "Elsie?

But she's an actress." Which was possibly the least useful response she could have had.

"Yes, and a decent one. But she has an eye and sensibility that is wasted in the theater. Her sense of proportion is unerring. And she would create a vastly more feminine interior than Stanny, genius that he is, with his love of objets d'art and European

history. Think of it. It would be like having our little Irving Place house—"

"And my sitting room," Sarah added, "for the entire clubhouse."

"That does sound wonderful," Daisy agreed. "But there is also a vast difference between changing the look of a few rooms and

coming up with a unity for five floors."

"True, but I believe Elsie can do it. And so does Stanny."

"So he's in on this, too?" Daisy gave Bessie a direct look.

"I didn't put him up to the idea," Bessie said innocently, which was a dead giveaway.

"We'll have to put it to a vote," Daisy said.

"Naturally," agreed Bessie. "As house committee chairwoman, I'll call a meeting of the building committee an hour before the

regularly scheduled luncheon meeting next week and kill two birds with one stone."

Daisy thought there would be more carnage than a couple of birds when the other hundred-odd members found out that their decor would be the responsibility of an amateur. Daisy shuddered. "And you think you can convince all twelve of the committee members to hire Elsie?"

"My dear, selling talent is my business. And I would never try to sell one that wasn't up to the task."

That was certainly true; Bessie was the biggest agent in the theater.

"It's a very forward-thinking idea," Bessie continued. "Not only to have a female architect working on the structure, but

now the possibility of a female decorator. The Colony Club will indeed be a women's club."

"I'm convinced," said Daisy. "If we can get the committee on board, I'll present it to the members at large."

"I'll do better than that," said Bessie. "I'll have Stanny come and ratify it."

"There's only one thing," Sarah said.

"And what is that?"

Bessie cleared her throat. "We haven't told Elsie yet."

Elsie sat in the dark of her boudoir, the shades drawn, the shadows of her recent purchase, a plaster cast of The Three Graces , literally turned to stone at her feet as they danced together for eternity. The epitome of exuberance in the antiques store

this morning... now stolid and inanimate as the ghosts at MissHavisham's wedding.

She was feeling morose. No, morose was such a mediocre emotion; morose didn't take any energy or imagination to actualize.

No, Elsie de Wolfe was feeling... tragic.

She'd tried to be more than the mediocre actress she was in dread of becoming. But stardom eluded her; she could feel opportunity

slipping from her grasp.

She wrapped her arms around her waist, the silk of her tea gown cool and sleek. She raised one arm, then the other, felt the silk of her favorite pagoda-style sleeves slip down to her shoulders, and heard the front door click open. She dropped her arms. Her sleeves fell back into place.

She quickly turned on lamps and lifted the shade. Glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Rolled her shoulders back, pasting

a smile where she felt none. But needs must. It was all well and good to feel tragic, but not for Bessie.

She faltered for a moment. She'd never had to pretend in front of Bessie before. Not until Anne Morgan had become a permanent

fixture in their household. Her sudden need to pretend now rolled around in her mind like wine turned to vinegar on the tongue.

Somehow she would have to learn to live with Anne's intrusion into their life.

"Elsie, dear? Where are you?"

"Coming." Elsie took a second to fluff her hair, then turned and stubbed her toe on the Graces.

Biting back a cry of pain, she eased around the statuary, then stepped to the side to avoid another recent purchase. She was

getting more and more requests to help furnish the rooms of her friends, and she'd started buying things that caught her eye

and bringing them home. They lined the hallway and flowed over to the bedroom. Bessie had complained just this morning that

if she was going to continue decorating for others she would have to get an office.

Elsie had forcefully lifted her spirits by the time she floated into the foyer to meet Bessie, who had just tossed her fur-trimmed

coat to the parlormaid.

"Where on earth have you been?" Elsie asked. Bessie never left the house before one, not even for Elsie. Elsie just hoped

it wasn't because of Anne.

Bessie was dressed in one of her business suits and a black felt hat that she was hastily unpinning.

"Paying a morning call on Daisy Harriman." The hat went the way of the fur-trimmed coat.

"Oh?"

"Yes, come into the dining room. I need my lunch if I'm to get any work done today."

Elsie's throat tightened. She didn't think she could eat a bite. But she followed Bessie into the room. Usually the sunny

decor made her feel hopeful. It had been one of her early ideas, getting rid of the dark and stodgy past and bringing in light

and fun.

Bessie took her place at the head of the table and when Elsie moved to sit at her usual spot, Bessie patted the chair beside

her. "Come sit with me. There's something I want to discuss."

If Elsie had ever suffered from stage fright, it was now. What could they have to discuss except two things that Elsie dreaded,

Anne Morgan and Elsie's career. But she smiled with desperate affection and took a seat to Bessie's left.

They waited while the maid served deviled ham and toast points and a pot of hot coffee, which she left on a warmer in front

of Bessie.

"You're not eating," Bessie said.

"Not much of an appetite today," Elsie said, and sighed before she could stop it.

"Don't let it get to you, my dear," Bessie said, helping herself to the ham. "Plays, even the good ones, sometimes fall victim

to a fickle public."

Elsie waved a graceful hand. It took a conscious effort when she really felt like clawing the air in frustration.

She appreciated Bessie's support, especially since she was fully aware that Bessie didn't think all that much of her acting

abilities. She was known as the best-dressed actor on the Rialto, not the best actor, no matter how expensively she was costumed.

"It isn't just the play."

"I know."

"Oh, Bessie," Elsie cried, dropping all pretense. "What shall I do to get out of this awful pit?"

Bessie got that look she assumed when she was about to deliver a home thrust. Elsie steeled herself for the inevitable.

"I know, my dear, that you long for a larger destiny. But have you ever thought that, perhaps, your grand inspiration lies

not in the theater, but elsewhere? In doing something that utilizes your special gifts?"

Elsie, even in her most selfish moments—and she had to confess, there were many—couldn't pretend to see how Bessie could save

her, or if she even deserved to be saved.

"Just think," Bessie continued. She looked around at the white and green that Elsie had chosen to replace the deadly, dark

Victorian malaise that had been their dining room. "Your eye for synthesis. Your instinctual sense that sees decor as it should

be used, a combination of color, proportion, and comfort.

"These are all special gifts. Look..." She gestured toward the Ching vase that held the flowers Elsie had brought home

from the theater and arranged. "A nondescript vase, a bunch of theater flowers become a kaleidoscope of color and shape in

your hands.

"There's an opportunity here, my dear. If you'd but grasp it."

Elsie winced, not at Bessie's words, but at the words she didn't say: Before it's too late. And she loved Bessie all the more for it. Many others would have let her die on the vine and simply forget she ever grew.

But not Bessie.

Elsie didn't want to abuse Bessie's belief in her. And she couldn't continue to lean on her. She had to change things now,

while she still had Bessie's affection, even though she had to face the fact that she would now have to share it with Anne.

"And look how you transformed Trianon. And Sarah's sitting room; it's remarkable, everyone says so. A perfect métier for your talent."

"Become an interior decorator?" Elsie asked. How did one even go about doing that?

"Not just a decorator. The decorator. You could change the course of furnishings for the whole country. Become America's first female interior decorator.

A woman consulting women in their own domains."

The first female interior decorator. Bessie's words exploded in Elsie's mind, swelled and blossomed into a bright future.

She could do it. So what if she didn't know one architectural period from another, and couldn't draw. She could hire people.

Have an atelier of different artists to do that. She would go on buying trips, searching the haunts and habitudes of Europe

for just the right piece of furniture, paintings, statues for her clients. Just like Stanny and the other architects did.

She would transform interiors, convince her clients to leave the dreary past and embrace an uncluttered and light future.

"But... how would I get started?" She had already redone rooms for several friends to universal applause. She'd have them

spread the word, subtly of course, to others.

"Well, Sarah was at Daisy's this morning and we all agreed that you have a remarkable talent for home decoration. And Sarah

and your other friends would certainly spread the word."

Elsie hesitated. She'd have cards made up, and then...

"I'm certain you will be a resounding success," Bessie said, pouring herself another cup of coffee. "Especially when word

gets out that you are designing the interior of the Colony Club."

Elsie's life flashed before her.

"The Colony Club? But that's Stanny's commission."

"He's all for it. That's why I visited Daisy this morning. It has to be approved by the club members, of course, but I don't

see any problems."

The Colony Club. Was this the final death knell of her acting career? She would begin a new career. Like doing a play with no one in the cue box. Could she do it? She could. There was room to excel in decorating. She could see it now—the appointments with prominent New Yorkers, booked months in advance. No more late nights at the theater. No more tours and bad hotels, no more long train rides to small towns in the Midwest. Instead she would be paid to sail to the capitals of Europe.

But could she make a living at it? She would need to get backers, like for a play production. Have them put up some seed money.

It would take a lot of work... But suddenly she could see it, her creations, unfettered by others' interpretations, and

she felt the undeniable rush of power as the curtain opened on her new and glorious future.

"I'll do it."

"Good—now the first thing to be done is to inform the ladies, then rent you an office and a storage space."

Daisy didn't know how Bessie managed it, but all twelve members of the house committee were in their seats when Daisy walked

into the assembly hall. There was an expectant air about the group and Daisy wondered how much Bessie had already told them

about the new plan.

She quickly divested herself of her winter coat and took her place as president on the dais next to Bessie, chairwoman of

the committee.

Bessie was quick to call the meeting to order. After all, there were bound to be questions and arguments and they had a luncheon

to attend.

Bessie was clever that way. The tight timing limited the amount of fractious behavior Daisy anticipated. No one would want

to miss the bill of fare.

Conversations quieted on the first gavel strike.

"Welcome to the first official meeting of the Colony Club of 1905," Bessie said. "And as such, I have only one item to submit to you today."

There were looks, Daisy noticed. But no one said a word.

"Mrs.Harriman and I have been keeping tabs on the construction schedule of the clubhouse and were able to visit the site

a few weeks before Christmas. The building is coming along nicely and we were quite pleased with the progress.

"However, in viewing the premises it occurred to us that the interior begged for a different touch. Something more feminine,

more hospitable to conversation, study, and enjoyment than the setup of men's clubs."

A few of the ladies nodded. Several frowned, perhaps wondering where this was going.

"So after consulting with Stanford White, he suggested that we have Elsie de Wolfe design the interior of the club."

She paused. The reaction was slow in coming. Daisy assumed it was from shock. Maybe they should have discussed it with individual

members before presenting it to the committee as a whole.

On cue, pandemonium broke out.

The gavel banged with precision. "Ladies, let us discuss this in an organized fashion, else we will miss lunch altogether."

The committee subsided.

Daisy sat back and watched in admiration. Bessie knew how to control her audience. Years of working among temperamental actors

and playwrights had given her a perfect sense of how to build to a climax.

Several hands went up.

"The chair recognizes Mrs.Bull."

"Why does he want to turn us over to Miss de Wolfe? We hired him, and he should honor that agreement."

"And so he will. Though as we often discussed in the course of our work with him, many of us have expressed the desire to make the rooms more to women's needs. And in our last discussion, he brought up the idea that a woman would more closely be able to actualize our ideals. He's very aware of Miss de Wolfe's interest in French and Colonial design. They often exchange ideas. Have collaborated on several projects. And thinks she would be the obvious choice."

Sarah Hewitt stood. "I can attest to her skills; she did wonders with several of my rooms."

"And to mine," added a voice from the other side of the room.

Bessie had placed her claques in perfect position to sway the others.

Helen Barney stood. "It's all well and good for Elsie to help her friends. But we're talking about an entire building. One

that must be above the pale."

Daisy had made the exact same argument when she first heard the scheme.

"The question is," Sarah said, "who will provide a more feminine look. As brilliant as Stanford White is, can he adapt his

style to make it uniquely ours?"

"And..." Helen Whitney fairly popped out of her chair. "Manage it before the turn of the next century. He's just now beginning

to look for furnishings for our house, and he started four years ago. We don't even have glass in the windows yet."

She sank back in her seat, and Daisy wondered if Bessie had enlisted her to the cause or whether she reacted out of pure frustration

with Stanford.

"Which brings us to the question of scheduling," Bessie said. "Mr.White is in the middle of several large projects. The Colony

Club would get Miss de Wolfe's full attention."

"I'm sure we all respect Miss de Wolfe," said Mary Dick, "but she's still an amateur."

"Only because she doesn't accept payment for her work," Sarah said.

"Well, I say it isn't time to rock the boat."

At which point opinions broke out around the room while Bessie sat back, content to let them work it out.

"But if he can't stay on schedule, we might never get a club."

"Which will play right into the Princeton Club's hands. Since they expect to buy us out before we even open."

"Yes," said another. "But she's an actress. What does she know about architecture? We need someone with reputation, with stature,

respected in the world of architecture. Interiors are more than putting a vase here, a lamp there."

"Anyone who has seen my parlor," Sarah said, "will know she's more than that."

"And a woman, they'll laugh us out of town," rose another voice.

"Let them try," yelled several women.

"They're already laughing at us—"

"Just the other day—"

Bessie banged the gavel. Twice. "Mrs.Harriman is recognized."

The din subsided somewhat. "Ladies, let us discuss this rationally. And think of our aims. The whole purpose of the club is

for women; we undoubtedly will ruffle some feathers."

Alva Belmont rose from her chair. "So what if we incur the wrath of those who would keep us idly at home? I say we vote yes

for Elsie." She sat down quickly before Bessie's gavel came down again.

"You would, Alva Belmont—"

The reactions rose to a fever pitch.

"Ladies, ladies." Bessie banged the gavel. "Perhaps if you heard an endorsement from Mr.White himself."

She was answered by a resounding yes from the group.

"In that case, Mr. White, will you be so kind as to join us?"

All heads turned toward the door, including Daisy's. She cut a look at Bessie in pure admiration. The twinkle in Bessie's

eye was as good as a wink. What a master.

Stanford strode toward the dais, his tailored suit exuding charm, masculinity, and authority. His limp was hardly noticeable

today.

"Ladies," he began. "I can only say one thing to you. Give it to Elsie and let the girl alone. She knows more than any of

us."

While the ladies were still recovering from that pronouncement, Bessie moved to hire Elsie for the job. Daisy and Anne Morgan

seconded, as they both had agreed upon beforehand. And the measure passed.

Stanford took his leave and the ladies all hurried into their coats to join the other members for lunch and to be the first

to deliver the news.

Daisy waited for Bessie to gather up an array of folders, papers, and her notes, none of which she had used.

"Props," Bessie said. "Makes you look like you're fully prepared."

"And were you?" Daisy trusted Bessie's judgment and Stanford's. But the resolution seemed to have passed very quickly with

no time for the others to really consider their vote. And what if they'd voted no?

"Always. Plus Stanny agreed to assign Elsie an assistant who can render Elsie's ideas into a plan and keep him in the loop."

"Did the two of you plan his entrance?"

"But of course; timing is everything. And with that in mind, let us go, or they'll start lunch without us."