The Secret Life of Anna Blanc Read Online Free Page A

“You didn't tell father, did you?”
    â€œHe left your father a note.”
    â€œWell, that was a misstep. He'll never get to see me now. Next time, just tell him yes, I will marry him, whoever he is, and to meet me in the garden at midnight. Otherwise, I'm going to be an even older old maid. But, I don't suppose you care.”
    â€œMiss Anna, I have other news.”
    Anna was impatient for the woman to leave. “What?”
    â€œLouis Taylor eloped.”
    After a moment of silence, Anna said, “Oh.” She wrapped her arms around herself. It was only January. The ink on the annulment papers still dripped. “With whom?”
    â€œIt's not important. Good night, Miss Blanc.” She proffered no sympathy. Her condolence came in the form of ignoring the blood, the glue, the fire, and the strange posture—all clear evidence that Anna was up to something. As she left and closed the door, Anna wondered if Mrs. Morales loved her.
    She threw a chair.

In an upscale millinery shop in downtown Venice Beach, amidst a sea of plumes in every hue, Anna tried on a shimmering peacock-feather headdress. She admired herself in a table mirror from several different angles. She was a vision and she knew it.
    Anna's chaperone tried on a scratchy, straw hat adorned with multicolored feathers. She cocked her head, and then cocked the hat. She looked like a macaw. Her name was Miss Cooper. She had the slack-faced look of a mental patient. Anna resented her very existence. No other girls her age had chaperones unless they were courting, which Anna was not. Few men courted annulled girls, and all of them feared her father.
    Anna plucked off the headdress and handed it to a sales woman. “Add it to my tab, please.” She began pinning her own chapeau back into place.
    â€œI most certainly would, Miss Blanc, but…your father hasn't paid for the five hats you bought in December.” The sales woman smiled apologetically.
    Anna's eyes widened and she flushed crimson. No one ever refused a Blanc credit. “Well then,” Anna said. She put on an air of carelessness and spun around, passing two rich ladies, who were staring, and clipped toward the door. In her beaded clutch, where money should be, there was nothing but a few calling cards, her keys, and a handful of stolen Lucky Strikes.
    The shop lady followed obsequiously. “Why don't I save it in the back for you? Then you can straighten all this out and come back tomorrow.”
    Anna lifted her chin. “No, never mind. I don't like it.” Bells tinkled as she swung out the door, through the stone arches onto Windward Avenue. Miss Cooper replaced the straw hat and scampered after Anna.
    Outside the shop, the air was tangy with ocean smells, dust, and steaming horse manure. The street swarmed with people baking under hats and parasols or seeking the cool shade of the colonnade. Like Anna, they had fled the even hotter city and taken the train to spend a day at the beach.
    A rumble of distant voices hummed under the crashing of waves and the regular noise of the crowd. Cops in black leather helmets loitered, sweating in wool uniforms. Anna ignored it all, knocking on her forehead like it was a door and she wanted in now . Her new lack of credit foreboded bad things. Why was she in the doghouse this time and, more importantly, what had given her away? Had Mrs. Morales found Anna's contraband books?
    Anna peered at Miss Cooper, hoping for a clue. “Father didn't say I couldn't buy clothes. It wasn't part of my sentence. He must be angry at something new.”
    The chaperone, who knew little about anything, shrugged and fanned herself with a limp handkerchief that stuck to itself in two places.
    Anna no longer felt like swimming, bowling, or being rowed in a gondola through the Venice canals. Even the musclemen had lost their appeal. “Let's go.” She strode toward the Pacific Electric red cars that would take her back to