Esther

Esther was never one to pay attention. Always the wanderer, Charles would say. As the two sat in the drawing room on their red velvet chairs, facing the fireplace with its elaborate mantelpiece, he occasionally noticed Esther glance at her Hamilton diamond watch, but not for the sake of admiration. The rhythmic tapping of her foot against the mahogany hardwood floor gave it away. There was a constant sense of disquietude around her, left dangling over her proper figure, opposing her perfect posture, her crossed legs, and her clasped hands resting on her knee suitably; it was as though she had just arrived or was just about to leave. In these moments, it was clear she was waiting for something to happen, something unexpected and extraordinary.

Mr. Charles Lewis, though much older than his young flapper of a wife, tried to remain in touch with his youth to the furthest extent so as to please dear Esther. And he did so begrudgingly at times, for when the parties went on till four in the morning and his wife, the wonderful hostess of these bashes, attempted pouring yet another Gibson down his throat, he couldn't help but consider how tranquil a life of solitude must be. The following day, his wife would try to justify herself by explaining to him, darling everyone just adores our parties, and besides this mansion is just such a lovely place to host them, after all you wouldn't want all this extra space to go to waste, now would you? Somehow, she always convinced him to let her host another party that evening, and this evening it was absolutely necessary for the Duke of Devonshire was in town, and that evening why of course it was Margaret's birthday! But ultimately, he considered it indeed worth the reward, because lovely Esther had a quality in her, an indescribable, irreplaceable aspect that made him irretrievably in love with her.

Esther with her flaky personality always kept Charles alert; it was the custom for her to surprise him with a sudden idea impulsively turned into action. Such an idea was often reckless, and had repercussions that Charles was left to correct. It was never intentional: Esther simply had a naïveté that occasionally clashed with her good intent. Once, she awoke early in the morning and imagined it was vital she left to get new curtains for the lounge, because the guests would judge the motif of the room ever so harshly if the curtains weren't red; the purple curtains just did not harmonize with the lighting of the room, and red would set the perfect mood in the early hours when it was still dark and people wanted a relaxing area to converse quietly as the piano played in the background. So she left right away and stayed in New York all day, and did not return the next day, nor the next, until finally Charles became so worried he left to find her. After following a long trail full of familiar faces and looking everywhere from Carnegie Hall to The Plaza Hotel, a man in his mid-thirties with a terribly groomed mustache whom he recognized from some of Esther's parties explained to him that Esther had gone to London. Outraged, Charles followed her there and continued his search for her, until finally, a week after she had decided to purchase new curtains, he found her in The Savoy surrounded by a group of men; they all laughed unanimously each time she spoke, and each time she gestured her flattery with a casual wave of an arm or a blushing smile. Flustered, he pulled her out of the group and asked her what on earth she was thinking. She simply answered that she did not like the curtains in New York, and she thought London would have the right hue she was searching for. Soon after, they arrived home, without the red curtains, and she never mentioned them again.

Photo by Danielle Amorim.