Which hadn’t helped. Jane had snuck out anyway.
When Patsy had joined Jane the second night, and they’d both come home exuberant, Betty had known she wouldn’t be able to stop them from doing so again. A part of her had been envious, and wanted to see the things they’d seen, do the things they’d done, but she’d also been concerned about the consequences that could arise.
The first few nights she’d joined her sisters in sneaking out, she’d observed, listened, and anticipated all that might possibly go wrong. She’d then taken all she’d learned, paired that with predictions, and came up with a solid set of rules that if any were broken, their night excursions would end. In order to make her sisters understand why they needed the rules, she’d pointed out things such as going blind—or, worse, death—from drinking certain beverages, as well as going to jail if a joint they were in was busted.
In the end, her sisters had agreed to follow the rules she’d set down and had.
She was the one who had broken rules tonight, and going to the Rooster’s Nest again tomorrow night would break another one—because he’d said he’d be there.
Therefore, it couldn’t happen.
Satisfied with her conclusion, she rolled onto her side, telling herself it was time to fall asleep. Her gaze, though, caught sight of the mug on her dressing table. The moonlight coming in through the window seemed to be shining directly on it. She’d set it there earlier, and dropped her hairpins into it.
A wave of guilt churned in her stomach. That was another rule she’d broken. If Patsy or Jane had won a mug, she would have made them leave it at the joint or discard it on the way home. She hadn’t been able to do that. Instead she had clutched it to her breast all the way home, telling herself her parents would never see it because they rarely came upstairs.
Frustrated at herself, she got up and buried the mug in the bottom of a drawer.
Once back in bed she told herself to completely forget about the mug, the dance-off, and the kissing bandit, and willed herself to fall asleep.
She fell asleep but awoke with her heart pounding due to dreams where she and the bandit danced, laughed, and, of course, kissed.
That frustrated her, how her dreams had deceived her. Made her feel as if all her efforts of trying to be dutiful, of following all the rules, were for naught. She still didn’t have any control over any part of her life.
She lay in bed for a moment, eyes closed, and chided herself for ever thinking that she did have any control. Not even of her future.
Last week Father had requested her presence. That was how he’d put it—her presence was requested in his office. Like their family was royalty or something. Some days it felt as if she lived in a dozen different worlds, and she got dizzy hopping back and forth between them.
There was Mother’s world, where the sky was always blue, everyone spoke softly, did their chores, and pinched pennies wherever possible.
Then there was Father’s world, where he was the ruler of all. He’d owned all of Hollywoodland at one time. Inherited the land from his grandfather, who had tried to farm it, but it was too hilly. Father first sold acreage to several film studios who needed space to film their movies, and that was what had given him the inspiration for Hollywoodland. An elite real estate division that only the rich could afford to live in. He had a large sign erected that could be seen from downtown and took out advertisements in the newspapers about the elite property for sale. In his world, he was a land baron—called himself that all the time—whereas in reality he was a land tyrant. He had so many rules and regulations about everything, not only the property he sold, but life, that Betty truly felt sorry for him because no one liked him. He didn’t allow them to.
Which led to her world of being one of his three daughters. There was no fun in being one of William Dryer’s daughters. On the outside, it appeared as if they had everything. A beautiful home, more than ample clothing, a new car, plenty of food—after all, they were rich. But what no one on the outside knew was that she and her sisters were practically held prisoners in their own home. Being the oldest, the one where his hand lay the heaviest, was so stifling there were days she dreamed of running away from it all.
She couldn’t do that, though, because that would bring down Father’s wrath on Jane and Patsy and she couldn’t do that to them. She was the oldest; protecting them, keeping them safe, and orderly at times, was her burden to bear.
So she’d set down her own rules in order to make her life more bearable. One of those rules was to accept what was and to not dream about what would be better because that only led to disappointment.
Although they were the daughters of one of the richest men in the county, she and her sisters had already had plenty of disappointments. They had the clothes, closetfuls, but they were demure housedresses, suitable for shopping and attending church. The ones they wore for their nightlife were homemade from material they’d secretly purchased while on their weekly shopping trips with Mother and hidden in the backs of their closets. Coming out only at night, after her parents were asleep.
Dressed as flappers, in fashionable short skirts, wearing makeup and strings of pearls—which also had secretly been purchased—they’d climb down the trellis and hightail it to the nearest speakeasy to
