Juliana

by Vanda

“I don’t think that happens to everybody. That might be your own special gift.”

  “You think so?”

  “I do. Lately, I’ve been thinking about Uncle Charlie. I miss him.”

  I put my hand on Danny’s knee. “He was a special person.”

  “Like a father. Remember how he’d get on the floor of the garage and play Knights of the Round Table with us? He built that terrific castle. It even had a moveable drawbridge that we could put over a moat. Well, actually it was a mud puddle.”

  “And those little tin knights he bought you. You were King Arthur and I was Sir Lancelot. Uncle Charlie never minded me playing boy parts like my kindergarten teacher did.”

  “Nah.” Danny laughed. “Stuff like that never bothered Uncle Charlie.” The breeze played with the curl on his forehead. “Ya know, he was only twenty-seven when he … I always saw him as an old guy, but he wasn’t all that much older than we are now. Why’d he do it, Al? Why’d he do what he did?”

  I squeezed Danny’s hand ’cause he knew I didn’t have the answer to that. He just needed to ask the question out loud. I thought of Mary O’Brien and my stomach got all knotted up, and I started hating that question. Danny grabbed my hand, and we ran to get on the Cyclone, the scariest roller coaster they ever made. I was terrified—I’d never been on a roller coaster before—but Danny put his arm around me and held me close through the whole ride, and I was safe; I was always safe with Danny. Only Danny.

  Chapter Nine

  September, 1941

  In September, the air got cool, and I got restless. I called up Dickie from the hall phone and met him for supper at the Horn & Hardart’s Automat on 42nd Street.

  There were shiny tables everywhere and a big bank of chrome-plated knobs that opened small chrome-plated doors. Above the doors were signs that said things like Pies, Pastry, or Buns. All kinds of food sat behind those little closed doors.

  Dickie bounced out from behind the bank of chrome taking off his apron. He pulled a fistful of nickels from his pocket, ready to give them to me.

  “Oh, Dickie, no. I can pay for myself.” I reached into my purse.

  “No girl’s gonna pay while I’m around.” He dropped the nickels into my hands. “Pick out what you want.”

  I put one nickel into the Stew slot and pulled on the door. It opened and I slipped out a bowl of beef stew.

  “Hey, Hal,” Dickie called in through the now-empty slot. “I want ya to meet Danny’s girl, Alice.”

  Hal stuck his hand into the space and wiggled his fingers. “Pleased to meet ya.”

  “You, too,” I laughed.

  “See ya later, alligator,” Dickie said, shaking Hal’s fingers.

  “Gosh, Dickie, I haven’t seen you all summer,” I said as we sat down. “How ya been?”

  “Okay.”

  “You been auditioning?”

  “Not much. Most of the auditions are in the day and I’m here. How ’bout you? ”

  “I went to a few, but I was terrible.”

  “Geez, you were good in Miss Haggerty’s class.”

  “I start studying with Miss Viola Cramden next week. She’ll make me into a great actress like Gertrude Lawrence. At least I hope so. Or else why am I here?”

  He looked down at his stew and speared a hunk of beef. “I never see Aggie. How’s she doing?”

  “I hardly ever see her either. Just the top of her head in the morning when she’s sleeping. Still I thought you were seeing her.”

  “Nah. I miss her. How ’bout you and Danny? You two must be—”

  “He’s always working on his novel. He told me his novel wasn’t going so good. Has he let you read any of it?”

  “Nah. I never see him. He goes to the library to write. He says that’s so he doesn’t disturb me. I wish he would ‘disturb’ me once in a while.”

  “Did you ever tell him that?”

  “I can’t say stuff like that. I’m a guy.” He ran his fork idly through his stew. “Remember how we used to talk in the lunchroom about how it was gonna be when we came to New York City? How we were gonna go to fancy parties with all the stars and how we were gonna get jobs on the stage and how you were gonna marry Danny and I was gonna marry Aggie and we’d have a huge double wedding and we’d be friends forever.”

  “It’s gonna be like that. It’s just taking longer than we figured.”

  “I’m losing her, Al.”

  “No. She’s just working on her career.”

  “No, I think I really am. I think she’s … she’s with that Max.”

  “Aggie wouldn’t go with him,” I said, wanting to believe it but wondering if Max was supporting her. She was still buying new dresses, and she didn’t have a job.

  “I can’t compete with a guy like that. What’ll I do without her?”

  He looked so sad. It reminded me of my first day of kindergarten. The teacher was absent, so we had to go in and sit with the first graders where Danny and Dickie were. We all sat in neat rows with our hands clasped together on top of our desks while this scary teacher with a hooked nose and frizzy hair talked to us about being good little boys and girls. Then there was the sound of rain and we all looked. Dickie was wetting his pants. It went down his chair and all over the floor. All the kids, even me, laughed. The only one who didn’t was Danny. It made me feel bad that I did that to Dickie. I don’t think Aggie was there that day. In the schoolyard, they surrounded Dickie singing, “kindergarten baby …” and that made Dickie cry. Danny stood in front of Dickie, his two little fists ready and yelled, “Anyone who sings that song at Dickie is gonna have to fight me.” The kids stopped singing and walked away. I think that was the day I fell in love with Danny.

  That accident followed Dickie right through high school. Just when it seemed like it’d been forgotten, someone would tease him about it again. He’d laugh it off like it was nothing, but I knew it hurt him. As we got older, Danny got into real fights defending Dickie. Sometimes ’cause of that accident and sometimes ’cause kids called Dickie a sissy for taking dancing lessons.

  “You know what we should do?” I said. “I was reading in the New Yorker , the Goings About Town section, that Juliana—remember we saw her in the summer at the Moon in June Café?—she’s gonna be at Café Society Downtown in Sheridan Square. It’s only a dollar a table, and ya know what? I read that besides having Negro and Jewish entertainers , they also let Negro and Jewish people sit in the audience . Isn’t that something?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, Al. That doesn’t sound right.”

  “All the really sophisticated people go there. That’s what the article said. It’s very hot. I’ll call Danny and insist that he comes. And I’ll make Aggie come, too. Even if it means I have to stay up all night waiting to talk to her.”

  “You’d do that for me?”

  “For us. We gotta get back to being us.”

  “Yeah. That’s right. Us.” He had a big smile on his face that melted into a frown. “You sure this place, this Café Society, is the kinda place that girls should go to, Al? I mean with Negroes and Jews sitting right at the next table?”

  Chapter Ten

  Danny was pacing in front of Hope House when I got home.

  “What a coincidence!” I threw my arms around him. “I was gonna call you tonight. I just had supper with Dickie and—”

  “Al, I gotta talk to you.” He slipped out of my arms. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, his shirt was all wrinkled, and his tie hung loose around his neck. He twirled his hat through his fingers.

  “What is it, Danny? You look like you slept in your clothes. You gotta take a rest from that novel.”

  “Can we go someplace? I can’t talk here.” He started walking down the sidewalk without waiting for me. He never did things like that. He was always a gentleman.

  “What is it?” I asked, running after him.

  He kept walking, making big strides across one street then the next.

  “Danny, stop. I can’t keep up with you.”

>   He kept walking. “I’m sorry. I just wanna be private with you.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know.” He stopped. “Come to my apartment.” He started walking again.

  I hurried after him. “Why do you wanna go there now?”

  “To talk. Alone.”

  “Dickie might be there?”

  “I’ll send him out.”

  “That’s not nice. Besides I shouldn’t be alone with you in your apartment.”

  “Alice, please.” This had to be serious. He never called me Alice when we were alone.

  I chased after him across Third Avenue and Fourth, Fifth, and Sixth until we finally arrived at Cornelia Street off West 4th. We dashed past the blacksmith’s shop into Danny’s apartment building that was next door. I clomped up the two flights of stairs, trying to keep up with him, and burst, breathless, into his barren parlor.

  Danny threw his hat onto his desk chair and collapsed on his torn couch with the springs popping out.

  I sat next to him. “What’s wrong, Danny?”

  He turned to me. “Marry me.”

  “Sure, we’re gonna do that. Sometime.”

  “No. Tomorrow.”

  “Danny, you’re sounding certifiable. What happened?”

  “Nothing. We always talked about getting married. What are we waiting for?”

  “Money. We don’t have any. We have to get our careers going first. We’re gonna have a big double wedding with Aggie and Dickie. Remember?”

  “We don’t need them to get married. We can just go to a justice of the peace tomorrow.”

  “No, we can’t; we’d need blood tests. Besides, I hardly ever see you, and then out of the blue you wanna get married? What’s going on?”

  “Just ’cause I wanna marry my girl and live a normal life like everybody doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with me.”

  “I didn’t say that. You just don’t seem like yourself.”

  “It’s being away from you, making a mess of that novel. I’m no Hemingway. If we got married, I wouldn’t be alone and maybe I’d write better. I miss you so much, Al.” He grabbed me in his arms and kissed me. He held my head and plunged his tongue deep into my mouth. I tried to kiss him back, but before I could he shoved me out of his arms and down against the couch. A spring popped up and hit me in the rear. He tore open all the buttons on the front of my dress. This felt nothing like prom night; it was more like he was mad at me.

  “Danny, this doesn’t feel right.”

  He yanked at my girdle pulling it down with my nylons to my ankles.

  “Danny, we can’t do this. Not like this.”

  He acted like I wasn’t even there.

  He shoved one of his hands into my underpants.

  I punched him in the shoulder. “No!” And I wriggled out from under him and fell on the floor. “You’re not going to do that to me.” I stood up and pulled up my girdle. My knee stuck out through a hole in my nylons. “I gotta go, Danny.” I buttoned my dress as I headed for the door.

  He ran after me. “I’m sorry, Al. I don’t know why I got like that. Please say you forgive me.”

  I stood facing the door, no expression in my voice. “I forgive you, Danny.”

  “You were gonna call me tonight. Was there something special you wanted to say? ”

  Still not turning around I said, “Dickie and I want the four of us to go to a club tomorrow night.” I couldn’t get any life into my voice. “Just us. No Max or anybody. So we’ll be like we used to be in the lunchroom. You’ll come?”

  “Of course. That sounds great. You forgive me? Honest?”

  “Yeah.” I opened the door and walked out.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Look, I’m telling ya, Japan’s not gonna fight us over oil.” Danny attacked his baked potato with a fork while Dickie sulked over his meat loaf. The orchestra played “Let’s Face the Music and Dance” while customers glided around and through the tables. Both Danny and Dickie were working on their second Manhattans.

  “Danny,” I said. “I don’t think Dickie’s in any mood for this now.”

  “Well, he should be.” Danny shoved some potato in his mouth. “It’s all about our generation.”

  “I tried to get Aggie to come,” I told Dickie.

  “She just doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

  “She had to work with Max.”

  Dickie laughed. “Uh, huh. Work. Sure. I bet I know what kinda work that is.”

  “Now, Dickie, Aggie’s not like that.”

  “Oh, isn’t she? Well, she did it with me.”

  “She did?” Danny gasped. “See, Al?”

  “If she did it with me, she can do it with anybody. She’s got nothing to lose now.”

  “You stop talking that way about her,” I said. “It’s not right.”

  “Well, at least he’s getting some.” Danny added, taking another sip of his Manhattan.

  “Not lately,” Dickie mumbled.

  “Shut up. Both of you. That’s a terrible way to talk. Dickie, why don’t ya try eating a little? It’ll make you feel better.” I handed him his fork and he took it .

  “Admiral Nomura,” Danny started up again, “has been negotiating with Hull all—”

  “Will you can it!” Dickie shouted, slamming his fork down. “I can’t stay here, Al. I’m sorry.” He rushed out.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I yelled at Danny. “He needed a friend just now, not a news commentator.”

  “Yeah, well, this stuff’s important. Maybe you want them killing me in a war so you and Dickie can be alone?”

  “That’s nonsense. What’s happened to make you change like this?”

  “Oh, yeah, nonsense? So why are you so worried about Dickie? What about me?”

  Nan Blakstone—known for her “sophisticated” or “blue” songs—walked on stage and played the opening chords to “The Elevator Song” on the piano. She talk-sang about an old elevator operator who couldn’t make his elevator go up anymore.

  The audience howled, but I was too distracted to listen. Danny thought she was hysterical and kept ordering Manhattans and laughing his head off throughout her act. I slowly nursed my Manhattan and my anger at him.

  “It’s not that funny,” I shouted to be heard over the laughter.

  “I’m just being happy. Isn’t that what you wanted? For all of us to come here and be happy? So I’m being happy, happy, happy.”

  “Why shouldn’t we all get together? What’s wrong with that? We were always together in high school. Besides, I thought you wanted to marry me.”

  “Yeah, well what about that ? How many years am I sposed to wait? Oh, forget it. Let’s be happy. Waiter, waiter.” The waiter came over and he ordered another Manhattan.

  Nan Blakstone was singing another song about a woman wrapping her legs around a horse to ride it, only she didn’t really mean a horse.

  What’s happening to Danny? Why’s he acting like this?

  I saw Juliana standing near the bar. The bartender handed her a drink in a long, thin glass. She smiled at him and stirred the liquid with a straw. Her lipsticked lips lightly gripped the end of the straw as she sipped, pausing at times to laugh and wink at the bartender. A few men who played in the orchestra stood at the bar laughing with her. She wore a breezy, peach-colored taffeta dress and high heels that showed off her delicate legs.

  She put her hands on the Negro saxophone player’s chest and stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

  “Did you see that ?” Danny said, his words slurring from one too many Manhattans. “What kinda woman …? That’s a bad woman.”

  “She’s not bad.”

  A couple at the next table got up. “Well, that is too much. We simply cannot stay in a place like this.”

  The owner, Mr. Josephson, heard them and came to their table. “Please, allow me to help you out. ”

  “I’m going over to say hi to Juliana,” I told Danny.

  “Why?
You don’t know her.”

  “Max introduced me in the summer. I want her to know that not everybody is like those people or you.” I marched over to Juliana.

  The emcee, a comic named Jack Gilford, was announcing the next singer, an unknown colored woman named Lena Horne.

  I stood watching Juliana from a short distance away, terrified to take the few remaining steps to the bar. My eyes wandered over the paintings and framed cartoons that were packed together on every inch of wall space. As I moved closer toward Juliana, feathers fluttered up and down inside me. She put her empty glass on the bar and must’ve said something funny to the bartender ’cause he laughed. I took a few more steps forward. “See you after the show, Mel,” she said to the bartender.

  “Knock ’em dead, honey,” Mel said back.

  “Uh, hi,” I hurried to say before she escaped into her dressing room. My legs felt like spaghetti strands.

  “Yes? Do you want an autograph? After the show.”

  “No. Remember you said you’d sign my program when we knew each other better. I met you back in June. Don’t you remember?”

  “No.”

  “But you must. I walked you home.”

  “Sorry. I have a show to do.” She whipped around, and I heard the taffeta of her dress rustle as she left.

  I stood there not moving, feeling like I’d just been punched in the stomach. Lena Horne was singing “What Is This Thing Called Love?” It took a few moments before I could make my way back to Danny. I was vaguely aware that people were dancing between the tables.

  I knew I shouldn’t have gone on with all that nonsense about Mrs. Viola Cramden or my nana and her money. And why? Why does it matter to me what she thinks? It doesn’t matter. She doesn’t matter a dang to me. “Let’s go home, Danny.” The ache in my stomach hung on.

  “Huh?” Danny said. “Oh, yeah, sure.” He pushed himself away from the table and then sunk back into his chair. “Oops.”

  I put an arm around him and lifted. “Come on, Danny, ya gotta help.” I was in no mood for this.

  Danny’s long skinny body flopped around like a marionette puppet as we climbed up the stairs out of the basement. The doorman grabbed Danny’s other arm and hailed a cab for us. The cab took us to the front of his apartment building.