Juliana

by Vanda

  “You are in the army. ”

  “And they never let us forget it. Oh, by the way, I met a soldier who said he ran into Danny.”

  “You did? Where? Who?”

  “Last weekend. The guy shipped out of here on Sunday. But he said he ran into Corporal Dan Boyd when he was on leave. Fit Danny’s description. They had drinks.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I haven’t seen you in months. And after how we left off in December—”

  “None of that meant a wit to me. You could have arranged for me to meet this soldier.” I looked around to be sure no one was close enough to hear. “Was he like … you?”

  “Like me ?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I know when I’ve been insulted. And I don’t know if he was ‘like me’. What difference does it make?”

  “If he wasn’t like you, it could mean that Danny—”

  “Has been magically cured? Why is it so important for you to find him?”

  “He was my fiancé.”

  “No, he was your beau. You weren’t engaged.”

  “But we would’ve been, and then we would’ve gotten married, if you—”

  “I know. If only I hadn’t come along. We’ve been down this road before. Just face the fact that Danny was born a homosexual and grow up.”

  “Shut up! Don’t call Danny that ugly name.” I wanted to slap him right there, but I’m not the slapping type.

  “Oh, I get it. If Danny isn’t that way , then you aren’t either? Is that it?”

  I slapped him. Max stared at me. I stood there shaking.

  “Ready?” Henry said. “I got one of the girls to get your coat and hat, so we can just go. Oh, hi, Max. How’s the show coming?”

  “Good.” Max didn’t take his eyes off me. I could see a red spot forming on his cheek.

  “It’s too early to go now,” I said. “I’m not off yet.”

  “Yes, you are.” Henry nodded over at the kitchen.

  Miss Cowl poked her head out the window. “Depart, dear girl. For parting is such sweet sorrow, is it not?”

  Henry helped me on with my coat. “Oh, just a minute. I left my hat in the kitchen.”

  Max and I stood facing each other, guilt filling me. “Max, I—I’ve never done that to anyone before and I—”

  “You shouldn’t be fooling with that man’s heart,” he said, buttoning my coat. “I had a nice long talk with him last weekend. He’s falling in love with you. Let him go.”

  Henry hurried back, his cane propelling him forward. “Ready?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  June, 1942

  From on top of the double-decker bus, I had a clear view of the shops and beautiful homes along Fifth Avenue. One of those beautiful homes belonged to Virginia Sales’ mother on Fifth and East 79th. It was one of the few mansions left in the city. Virginia’s father had been a big financier who knew J.D. Rockefeller personally .

  One night, Virginia and I were in the locker room, not saying anything to each other, which was usual. I had my back to her, putting on my hat when she made a sound, not quite a word.

  “Did you say something?” I asked.

  “No.” She looked in the small mirror that hung in her locker and fiddled with her hair.

  I grabbed my purse from my locker.

  “Well … would you mind terribly if I made a suggestion?” she asked. “Uh, your legs.”

  “What about my legs?” I tried to hide them in my locker.

  “I assure you I have no prurient interest in your legs. It’s simply that I can tell you try hard with the leg makeup, but—”

  “It looks terrible. Doesn’t it?”

  “Well, you’ve drawn the seams somewhat crookedly and the makeup is streaking. I could show you an easy way to do it.”

  “Would you? It was so much easier when we could just pull on a pair of nylons, but with this war … having to paint our legs to look like stockings is so ….”

  “Just before the war, I bought quite a few pairs of Gotham Golden Stripes. I wanted to try that new Futuray stocking they came out with. I could never in a million years use them all. Let me a give you a few pairs. ”

  “I’ll pay you for them. Would that be like buying on the black market?”

  “I don’t know. To be sure that we’re not doing anything illegal, let me give them to you. I know how busy you are, but if you ever wanted to come to my home, I could show you some tricks with the leg makeup.”

  “When?”

  A real butler with a real English accent greeted me at the door and said, “Come in, madam. Miss. Sales is expecting you.” I held my breath so I wouldn’t gasp. Two marble staircases wound down into the center of the foyer. The floor was as shiny as the one inside the Metropolitan Museum, and the ceiling was as high as St. Patrick’s Cathedral with a gold chandelier hanging from it. It was like walking into the movie The Philadelphia Story. I expected Katherine Hepburn and Jimmy Stewart to stride in any minute.

  Virginia came walking down one of the staircases. Even at home she wore a nice dress, blue satin, and had her hair done up. Still, like everyone, she was wearing last year’s style to help save on material for the war.

  “Hurry,” Virginia said, turning to sprint back up the stairs ahead of me.

  Before we reached the top, a stern woman’s voice called from the bottom, “Virginia.”

  Virginia slowly turned. “I’m sorry about this,” she whispered. “You have to go through the interrogation. Good afternoon, Mother,” she said, to the tall, thin woman standing at the bottom of the stairs. The woman looked exactly how you’d expect a dignified rich lady to look. She even had real stockings on. Only one of them had fallen down around her ankle, and she didn’t seem to notice. I couldn’t stop noticing.

  “Mother, this is my friend, Alice Huffman. Remember I told you.”

  “Good afternoon, Miss Huffman. Won’t you join me in the parlor? Virginia?” Mrs. Sales led the way with Virginia and me behind her.

  The parlor was huge with two fireplaces and a grand piano. The overstuffed sofa and chairs circled around a wooden coffee table that had carved figures on the sides. Mrs. Sales nodded, and I took that as my signal to sit in the striped chair opposite the couch where she sat. She nodded Virginia into the other end of the couch.

  A hefty colored woman in a black dress and a white apron with a white cap on her head stood in the doorway holding a tray. “Ma’am?”

  “Yes, Marjorie, come in. You may put the things on the table. I hope you don’t mind, Miss Huffman, but when Virginia told me we were to have guests—”

  “I, Mother, I was to have the guest. One guest. Mine.”

  “I took the liberty of asking Marjorie to serve coffee and a few sweets. I hope I haven’t overstepped myself.”

  “No. This is nice of you. ”

  The maid poured coffee into three delicate china cups. “Would you care for sugar, ma’am?” she asked me.

  “None for me. Thanks.” I didn’t want to use up the Sales’ sugar ration.

  Virginia didn’t have any sugar in her coffee either, but Mrs. Sales had six spoons full.

  “Mother,” Virginia said softly. “The sugar. Remember, I explained this morning? Rationing?”

  “Nonsense. Your father promised I would always have whatever I needed. More, Marjorie.”

  Eyeing Virginia, Marjorie put in another teaspoon of sugar and left the room.

  “I was terribly pleased to hear that my child had made a friend,” Mrs. Sales began, taking a sip of her coffee. I grimaced watching her drink that. “Of course, I’ve never approved of actresses. Are you an actress, Miss Huffman?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize,” Virginia said. “You have nothing to—”

  “Oh, well, we can’t have everything. That was what my dear, dead husband said when he was wiped out in the crash.”

  “Mother, Daddy was never wiped out in the crash,” Virg
inia said.

  “Oh? Then, I have no idea what he was talking about,” she chortled. I think that was a chortle. At least, I think, my Victorian authors would have called that chuckle-like sound a chortle. “Tell me about your family.”

  “My family? Well,” I began, “there’s my mother, and my father, and—”

  “Mother, not everyone wants to discuss their family roots. Some people consider those things private.”

  “Private? What on earth for? One’s family credentials are the most …. Oh, you don’t have any family credentials.”

  I looked to Virginia for a translation. Virginia shook her head.

  “Just the type of friend I would expect Virginia to choose. Especially at a place like the Stage Door Canteen. I’m sure they perform a worthy service, but there are other ways for women to do their charity work. Still, I was pleased that Virginia had finally made a friend. Any friend. I don’t know how she does it. I simply would expire if I did not have my women’s clubs. We do good work, too, you know, Miss Huffman, supporting our husbands’ philanthropies.”

  I tried not to stare at that stocking bunched up around Mrs. Sales’ ankle. “Oh, I know you do, Mrs. Sales,” I said, “and Virginia has lots of friends at the Stage Door. She’s one of our most popular hostesses. The soldiers love her; they line up to dance with her and—”

  Virginia shook her head vigorously at me.

  “Well, yes, I would expect the soldiers to enjoy my daughter. Oh, please have a cookie. Marjorie makes the most delicious macadamia nut cookies.”

  “No, thanks.” I was thinking about their sugar stamps. “I had a snack before I left work. ”

  “But you must,” Mrs. Sales said. “Marjorie made these special for your visit. You mustn’t hurt her feelings.”

  “Mother, please,” Virginia said. “If she doesn’t want one, she doesn’t have to have one. Al and I—”

  “You call your friend Al? I simply despise nicknames. Don’t you, Alice?”

  “Uh ….”

  “And it is such a masculine one. No wonder you don’t have friends. You don’t know how to treat them. Have a cookie, Alice. May I call you Alice?”

  “Sure. I mean, yes, ma’am.” I took the cookie.

  “Mother, Alice came here to see me . We have things to discuss in my room.”

  “You have time. Give me a chance to get to know your little friend. You young people are always in a rush. Hurry, hurry, hurry. Alice, did you know that Virginia had a child but no husband?”

  “Mother!” Virginia yelled, and I could hear the pain in her voice. “Excuse me, Al, I can’t do this.” She ran from the room.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Sales whispered, “a little bastard.” She chuckled, delighted at the sound of the word. “But I guess it’s not a bad word if one uses it correctly. Oh, but it was years ago. My child is no spring chicken. Thirty-five and never married.” She chuckled, or chortled, again, seeming not to have noticed that Virginia had left. I wasn’t sure how to get out of this gracefully, so I just sat there. “You’d think at her age she’d be married by now, but, of course, what reputable man would want ‘used goods’ as they say. What is that expression? Oh, yes. If you’re getting the milk, don’t buy a cow. My daughter, the cow, certainly likes her men.”

  “Mrs. Sales, I don’t think you should be saying these things to me.”

  “The stories I could tell.”

  “But not to me. Please .” I slid to the very edge of my seat. “I came to see Virginia so I really think I should—”

  “Finish your cookie and coffee first. Oh, yes, my child simply does not know how to keep her legs closed.”

  I jumped up. “Mrs. Sales I really gotta go see Virginia.”

  “Do you know that beau of hers? Max? A despicable character. He’s the father of her bastard, you know.”

  “Gotta go now. Thanks for the snack.” I hurried out of the room before she could tell me one more thing I didn’t want to know. When I got to the top of the stairs, there were only doors, all closed. Which one was Virginia’s?

  “Virginia?” I whispered. After what her mother said, maybe Virginia was too ashamed to show me how to put on my leg makeup.

  One of the doors popped open and I called through the crack. “Virginia, are you in there?”

  “Come in.”

  I pushed through the door, closing it. Virginia stood with her back to me watering the African violets that lined a shelf near the window .

  I waited hoping she would say something, but she kept watering her plants. This room was bigger than my whole apartment. The furnishings were all white and so was the bedspread. It was like there’d been a snowstorm in there, only it was June. I wondered if I should leave.

  “You must always water African violets from the bottom, Al, never the top,” she said, not turning around.

  “Okey dokey.”

  She put the small watering can down on the shelf and turned to face me.

  “There sure are a lot of rooms up here.” I tried to smile. “I thought I’d never find you.”

  “My two older brothers and my younger sister used to have the other rooms. They’re married with their own homes.”

  “Oh.”

  “I never bring my friends here so she thinks I don’t have any. Imagine introducing mother to Shirl? Can you see it? Shirl puffing away on her cigar, flicking ashes on her rug.”

  “Shirl’d be pretty shocking for just about anyone, but your mother?” I started to laugh at the thought of it.

  “Oh, wouldn’t that be wonderful. Mother would faint dead away.”

  We fell onto her bed laughing till Virginia began to cry. She dried her eyes with her handkerchief. “Mother and I used to be great friends. Not that there was never any conflict. She could be quite controlling, but still we did have special times together. We visited art museums, took walks in the park, went to the opera, and talked about what young man I should set my cap for. But that was all before. Before … my child. I do have a child, Al. Somewhere. A child without a husband.”

  “Oh.”

  “Does that shock you?”

  She needed me to say no, but …. “I guess. Some.”

  “I know. If you want to leave now ….”

  “Do you want me to?”

  “No. I’m sick of feeling guilty about Joan.”

  “That’s your daughter?”

  “Well, that’s what I call her. I don’t know her legal name. Or where she is. Max helped me to find her a family.”

  “Then it’s true? Max is the father?”

  “Heavens no. Did she tell you that?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Max helped me to place her in a nice home. He knew people who could do such things. He knows where she is and visits occasionally, but we made a pact that he would never tell me where she’s living or about her life. Still … sometimes he slips and talks about her. When she was four, she made a clay ashtray for Uncle Max. ”

  “That ashtray on his coffee table. I picked it up once and Max practically chopped my hand off.”

  “There are many sides to Max Harlington.”

  “That’s why you put up with his insults.”

  “He doesn’t mean it.”

  “And that’s what he meant when he said he knew where the bodies were buried. I’ve wondered about that ever since I met you. The body is Joan. That’s a terrible thing to threaten you with.”

  “Without Max I’d never have survived it. I was young. But I don’t mean young in years. I was already twenty-three. I should have known better, but I was terribly naïve. I certainly knew nothing about men, not that I know much now. It was the summer before my senior year at Bryn Mawr.”

  “Katherine Hepburn went there.”

  “Yes. We were classmates.”

  “You were? Wow.”

  “I’d been in a few plays at school. Tiny parts. I was terribly shy, but being on stage gave me a feeling of aliveness, so I screwed up my courage and tried out for a summer stock company in Maine. T
o my shock, they hired me as the second ingénue. Mother was not pleased, but Father convinced her it’d be a good antidote for my shyness and would enhance my poise for the inevitable social situations that my station in life would require once I married.

  “Max was the manager of that company. Only nineteen and he’d already made quite a stir in Harlem that season. For the midsummer show, he brought in Grace George’s touring company and some of us had small parts in it. It was quite the thing to act on the same stage as Grace George.

  “I met a young man—only eighteen—an assistant stage manager on his way to becoming a director. Dashing. I fell madly in love, and we … well, you know. When I told him that I was in that way, he wanted no part of it or me. He was young and wanted to be free. Who could blame him? Still, I was crushed. I thought he genuinely cared for me. I was ashamed and afraid I’d get big and everyone would know. Stock ended and all the actors were scrambling for work on Broadway. Max was pulling together his first Broadway show and there was talk of me taking one of the smaller roles. It should have been the happiest time of my life, but … soon my body would …. Everyone would see my shame. But why Joan should be a shame, I’m not certain. The man still worked for Max even after we’d all left Maine; I was constantly running into him. I lived in dread that he’d tell some buddy in a beer hall—oh, how he loved his beer halls—and I’d become one of those jokes men tell.

  “One night in my terror—I just couldn’t take being alone with it anymore—I broke down and told Mother. She screamed and fainted. I ran to Max who was such a dear.”

  “Really? But the way he treats you.”

  “Oh, that’s nothing. He’s afraid I’ll get in the way of him and his boys. Max fired the man, but that man had the audacity to come to me and demand I speak to Max on his behalf to get his job back. I hear he now works at a gas station in Boise and directs plays for the local community theater on weekends.” A look of victory swept her face. “Max found a couple who had a farm where I could stay while I was in that condition. Then when it was over I came home.

  “While I was away, Mother had told Father, who was the true love of my life. He stopped speaking to me, not one word. But I understood. After all, I had betrayed him with another man and besmirched his reputation as well as my own. One day, Marjorie called me into Father’s study where he sat in his wheelchair. A few months before, he’d had a stroke, so he now was physically incapable of talking to me.” A few tears slid down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her handkerchief. “Sorry. I hate it when I get like this. Father reached out his hand, the one that still worked. I kneeled beside him as he struggled to speak. Tears rolled down his wrinkled cheeks. Finally, with great effort he said, ‘I love you. Forgive me.’ ”Tears now flooded Virginia’s face. “He died a few days later.”