He squinted, studying the paper. “I’ll be sure and ask Mr. Vanderbilt what he thinks.”
“Mr. Vanderbilt trusts my opinion.” Alva smiled.
“I’d still feel better dealing with Mr. Vanderbilt on all this.”
“I’m certain you would, but I can assure you that won’t be necessary.”
When she walked to the edges of the shells that would become the boxes, she frowned. She had envisioned something much more elaborate. “Mr. Cady, do you and Mrs. Cady enjoy attending the opera?”
“Ah, yes,” he said, somewhat perplexed by the question. “Mrs. Cady especially does.”
“And I’ll just bet Mrs. Cady enjoys watching the audience as much as the performers.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Well, as you know, and as I’m sure Mrs. Cady will attest, part of the magic of attending the opera is seeing who else is there. We want to see the dresses, the jewels. Everything! The boxes need to extend out far enough so that our most important guests will be on display as much as the performers.”
“You said, extend the boxes farther out?”
She giggled demurely. “Just listen to me telling you how to build a theater box when I’m sure you’re already well aware of the problem.”
“But, Mrs. Vanderbilt, according to the blueprints—”
“Isn’t it wonderful that blueprints can be altered? Now let’s talk about the stage. Did you see my note about the distance between the stage and orchestra pit?”
“I did but—”
“It’s going to look divine, Mr. Cady. Everyone’s going to be singing your praises, saying what a marvelous job you’ve done.” She took a step toward him, and when she brushed a bit of plaster from his lapel, he jumped back as if she’d pinched his bottom.
A flustered Mr. Cady excused himself after that, and Alva continued on alone. She walked through the stairwells and hallways, the taste of plaster and marble dust in her mouth. She didn’t care. She felt more at ease in the midst of a construction site than she did at one of those society luncheons. At least she could shape and alter the appearance of the opera house. That was easy. Transforming society and dealing with the opera house’s founding members was another matter.
By the time November arrived, the stockholders gathered for a meeting to elect their board of directors. They met that night at Sherry’s, a new restaurant that had just opened on Thirty-Eighth Street and Sixth Avenue. They had a private room, and Alva, her sister-in-law Alice, Lucy Clews, Cettie Rockefeller and Helen Gould were all crowded into the rear, sitting on hardback chairs while the men sat at the table with their brandy snifters.
“If there’s no other pressing business,” Billy said, his fingers laced together, “shall we begin the nominations for our board of directors?”
One by one various gentlemen stood and put forth the names of those they felt best suited for the role. Cornelius nominated John Rockefeller, Jay Gould nominated Willie, someone else suggested Henry Clews, and on and on it went. When Billy said, “All those in favor, raise your hand,” Alva’s hand shot up, making the room erupt in a burst of gasps and nervous laughter.
“Alva, please,” whispered Alice. “Put your hand down. You don’t get a vote. This is just for the men.”
Alva’s hand dropped to her lap as if it were made of lead. They probably thought she was embarrassed, but their snickering and laughter only infuriated her. She knew no one would have nominated her for a position because she was a woman. She hadn’t even expected that, but given her involvement with every phase of the building, given that the whole idea of a new opera house had been hers to begin with, she thought she’d at least be given a vote. She looked at the other wives, their hands primly resting in their laps, docile and maddeningly content.
* * *
—
Alva brought Jennie and Julia with her one afternoon to show off the progress on the new house. Armide was back in Mobile. Her sisters stayed a good three feet behind Alva as she walked them past several drays lined up, piled high with wood, marble and steel. The smell of lumber and manure wafted through the air. There must have been fifty carpenters and twenty-five masons balancing high up on ladders, sculpting the Indiana limestone in order to achieve the French château effect she wanted. She had never seen so many different chisels and mallets. Several workers stopped what they were doing just long enough to say good day and tip their caps.
“Now that rooftop will be trimmed in copper, all the way around,” she said to her sisters. “And wait till you see the inside.”
“What in the world is she going to do with a house this size?” Julia asked Jennie, loud enough for Alva to hear.
“Easy now.” Jennie rested her hand on Julia’s shoulder.
“Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t see what’s wrong with the house she’s got. Still nicer than any place she’s ever lived before.”
Alva turned and glared at her. “I’m standing right here, Julia. If you have something to say, you might as well say it to my face.”
“All right then.” Julia marched up to her and planted her knuckles to her hips. “I think you’re getting a little too big for your britches. All your husband’s money is going straight to your head. Sometimes I look at you, Alva, and I don’t know who you are anymore.”
“Come on now, you two.” Jennie stepped in between them, her arms stretched out to keep them apart.
“And I’ll tell you something else,” Julia said, not backing down, which was rare because Julia, the youngest, had almost always cowered before Alva. “All that money—it’s not going to make you happy.”
“This is exactly the kind of house Mama would have wanted me to have,” Alva fired back.
“If Mama were here, she’d be downright disgusted by your greed.”
“You’re just being ugly now,” Alva snapped. “You’re plain jealous is all.”
“Jealous.” Julia laughed. “Jealous of what? You and your snobbish friends? You and this ridiculous house? Just what exactly am I jealous of? You’re still not on Mrs. Astor’s guest list. You’re still on the outside looking in.”
“I suppose you think that, too?” Alva said to Jennie.
“Now don’t go putting words in my mouth, Alva. I think it’s lovely. If this is the kind of house you want, why then I think it’s just fine.”
“Well, now I don’t even feel like showing you the inside.”
“That’s fine with me,” said Julia, folding her arms. “I’ve seen more than enough already.”