When I learned of a book about the Barbizon Hotel for Women, I could not wait to read it. Living in Manhattan in the mid-sixties, I knew three young women who lived there after graduating from college. Throughout my career, I met numerous executive secretaries who had graduated from the Katherine Gibbs Secretarial School, having resided at the Barbizon. What tales they each had to tell; Fiona Davis does not exaggerate.
Ms. Davis did her homework well because she perfectly describes the Barbizon of the fifties era. The hotel was akin to a glamorous, expensive college dormitory, complete with stricter rules than I lived under at Mount Holyoke College. While I cavorted unfettered around Manhattan, my Barbizon friends obeyed a curfew and a draconian dress code. It was a godsend for well-to-do parents who were reluctant to unleash their daughters in Manhattan and for young women who were not quite prepared to strike out on their own.
What a perfect home for Darby McLaughlin, daughter of what seemed like the mother from hell. Darby, from small Defiance, Ohio, had no self-esteem, thanks to her overbearing, social climbing mother, who sent her to New York with several self-help books and strict orders to excel at Katie Gibbs. Afraid of her own shadow, Darby is unfortunately assigned a room on a floor occupied by Eileen Ford models. She does not know it then, but this is the beginning of Darby's problems. If the hotel had had a room for her on the Katie Gibbs floors, chances are that there would have been no story.
Completely daunted by the glamorous and often catty, nasty models, Darby craves friendship and finds it with Esme, a young Puerto Rican hotel elevator operator. Mingling with the help is verboten at the Barbizon; this is likely the first rebellious act of Darby's life. Esme introduces plain, self-conscious Darby to the underbelly of Manhattan. After their clandestine rendezvous, the two young women frequent a bebop club on the lower East Side, an area off-limits to Barbizon girls. Throw in a little love interest, and Darby's transformation is nearly complete.
Deftly interwoven with Darby's story is that of Rose Lewis, a present day journalist, who lives at the Barbizon. The hotel had been converted to condos several years prior when it had become a dinosaur. Certain longtime residents had been allowed to remain in their spartan accommodations, and Rose dons her investigative journalist's hat when she hears of an incident between Darby, her downstairs neighbor, and Esme. Darby refuses to talk to Rose, but she successfully cajoles other residents, now in their eighties, to reminisce about the old days at the hotel. Bits and pieces of the story emerge, but Rose cannot put everything together without input from Darby.
As the story progresses, both women are plagued with trouble. Darby becomes almost obsessed with the alternative lifestyle and neglects her schooling. Staying out all night becomes her new normal, and she feels the exhilaration of breaking away from her mother. Rose's boyfriend unceremoniously dumps her and evicts her from the condo. And the hits keep coming.
The chapter headings make it simple to delineate the two storylines. Slowly but surely the tension builds because I have no idea how the Darby-Esme story will play out. But what fun I had getting to the end! The attention paid to detail is remarkable and entertaining, especially in the chapters that take place in the fifties. When Darby's mother ordered a Jell-O salad, for example, I remembered that those ghastly masses of jiggly green were de rigueur on every lady's lunch menu.
Despite wanting to solve the Darby-Esme story, I savored this book. The writing flowed effortlessly. The transition between 1951-2 and 2016 was seamless. By a writer with lesser skills, the story could have been choppy. The characters were wonderful and well developed. I felt genuine empathy for Darby and Rose and will not soon forget them.
A stellar debut leaves me waiting for the next Fiona Davis book.
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