After examining one of the packages, she slid the box under her mattress and rushed across the grounds to the photography studio. If she didn’t hurry, she would be late. Taking the shortcut, she dodged behind tents and ducked under laundry lines. She passed crates filled with cheap novelties and wooden racks of soda pop. She came out by the cook tent. Hung-over carnies on folding chairs were hunched over tables, sipping strong black coffee. They didn’t look up.
When she got to the studio, Mr. Marzetti was not there. Usually, he was bustling around when she arrived. “Mr. Marzetti?” she called, walking to his quarters in back. She stood by the flap and called again, “Mr. Marzetti, are you in there?”
She heard a garbled reply, so she stepped inside. The room was a mess, and Mr. Marzetti was lying in bed, holding an ice bag to his jaw. He was still in his clothes from the night before.
“Oh, good lord, your tooth is worse,” she exclaimed.
He nodded. His eyes were watering, and his face was white.
He mumbled something, and Billie put her ear to his lips.
“Dentist this afternoon,” he whispered. “You run studio.”
She straightened up. “Me?”
He nodded.
“You want me to do the photography by myself?”
Again, he nodded.
“Must make money for dentist,” he said.
She blinked and replied, “I won’t let you down, Mr. Marzetti.” She dashed out to set up.
It was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, and it seemed as if all Monterey was at the carnival. In no time, customers were lined up at the door, waiting for pictures. Mr. Marzetti had gone to the dentist.
Perspiration rolled down Billie’s back as she worked all alone in the afternoon heat, but she never faltered. Happily, she posed customer after customer. Cajoling hesitant men, calming restless children, and showing women just how to hold their heads so their likeness was more flattering.
All through the day, she toiled, and when the carnival closed that night, she had to develop all the photos in the darkroom. Usually, she assisted Mr. Marzetti with this process, but tonight, she was on her own. The photographs had to be ready for customers in the morning.
The dentist had removed Mr. Marzetti’s infected tooth, but now, he had developed a fever. Florence sent Ruby over with food, but he refused to eat.
Handing Billie a sandwich, Ruby said, “Mother said you should eat something too.”
“She’s right. I’m feeling a little light-headed.”
“Shall I tell Virgil you can’t see him tonight?”
“Yes, please,” Billie said through a mouthful and ducked back into the darkroom.
For almost a week, Billie ran the studio by herself. While Billie took care of customers, the women of the carnival took care of Mr. Marzetti.
Word circulated in Monterey about Billie’s talents with photography, and soon, people were lined up around the tent, waiting for their picture to be taken. Opal served as Billie’s assistant, and they were a good team.
By the time Mr. Marzetti regained his strength, they were moving to the next town. Billie was exhausted but thrilled. Her hard work had paid off. She had been a success. Her confidence had increased tenfold, and Mr. Marzetti was delighted to have a talented assistant. Thanks to Billie, money had increased during his illness.
The winter of 1932, Majestic Carnival stayed in California, and Billie’s skills as a photographer grew. Working in the studio became second nature to her. But by spring, she began to feel restless. She felt as if carnival photography no longer challenged her. Studio work was not fulfilling. She wanted to take her photography to the streets.
But, how could she? She didn’t even have her own camera, and even if she did, how would she make money? Occasionally, newspapers would buy a photo, but they had not found a way to print pictures without the ink smearing. There was police photography, but Billie knew she couldn’t stand the gore. She didn’t know where to go.
Her relationship with Virgil continued to thrive, and she was happy. One night, when Billie met him by the carousel, he handed her a piece of paper. His eyes were bright, and he was grinning. The paper had a Western Union header and was from Mr. Gabriel Sims, Virgil’s brother. It read, “Ironworkers needed on The Rockefeller Center, stop. Come immediately, stop.”
Billie felt her stomach lurch, and she looked up at him. “Are you going?”
“Of course, I’m going!” he said, and he grabbed her, swinging her around.
“How soon?”
When he saw her face, his smile dropped. “Aren’t you happy for me?”
“Oh, you know I am, but when will I see you again?”
He took her arms and sat her down on a carousel bench. “Come with me.”
She looked up sharply at him.
“We’ll get married in New York once things are settled,” he said. “Please say you will.”
Billie searched his eyes and hugged him. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Yes, I will, Virgil! I am ready for a new life with you.”
“That settles it,” he said, pulling her to her feet. “Go pack your things. We catch the first freight out for New York City.”
* * *
Mr. Marzetti was the first person Billie told. He hated to lose her, but he wished her well. Billie thanked him for taking a chance on her and for being such a patient teacher.
“You have talent for this work,” he said in his thick accent. “I think women should stay home, raise family, but I make exception in your case.”
Billie laughed. “I’m glad, Mr. Marzetti.” She kissed him on the cheek.
“Goodbye, Miss Billie.”
“Goodbye.”
It was difficult saying goodbye to Florence and the girls. They were her carnival family, and she had grown to love them.
“We’ll miss you more than you know,” Florence said, taking Billie’s hands. There were tears in her eyes.
“I’m quite certain your expertise in photography will catapult you to fame and fortune,” Opal said, pushing her glasses up on her nose, “and whisk you away from this pedestrian existence.”
“Shut up, Opal!” Ruby barked and hugged Billie. “Think of us sometimes.”
“How could I ever forget you?” Billie replied. Picking up her bag and putting on her faded cloche hat, she looked from one to the other and then stepped off Clara Bow. An hour later, she was on a freight bound for the East Coast, ready to embark on a new adventure with her future husband.
Chapter 13
“It’s great to be back!” Virgil exclaimed as they pushed through the crowded streets of Brooklyn. He was holding Billie’s hand.
“How much farther to your uncle’s place?”
“Not far,” he shouted back to her.
The North Gowanus District was alive with activity; motorcars and buses roared past, vendors with pushcarts hawked their wares, women with shawls on their heads shopped for supper as children dodged between the knees of grownups.
Warehouses and tenements lined the streets with laundry hanging overhead. Immigrants leaned over fire escapes, calling to one another in Italian, Yiddish, and Gaelic. Billie had never witnessed so much congestion and activity.
“There it is!” Virgil exclaimed, and he ushered Billie down an alley.
The Lodge was in the back corner of a large brownstone building. A tiny maple leaf and eagle were painted in the corner of the door. Virgil knocked. Someone slid a panel open, Virgil mumbled something in Mohawk, and they were admitted.
It took a minute for Billie’s eyes to adjust to the darkness. The room smelled of stale beer and tobacco. There was a long bar along one wall and a row of wooden booths along another. Several men were standing with one foot on the bar rail, drinking and talking quietly. Heads turned when they saw her.
She said to Virgil, “When you called it ‘The Lodge’, I thought you meant one of those men’s clubs like the Elks.”
Virgil pulled off his flat cap and chuckled. “Well, it’s a men’s cl
ub of sorts. It’s my uncle’s speakeasy. He took the name from the old Indian lodges back home in Canada.”
The bartender who admitted them returned to drying beer glasses at the bar. Behind him was a mural of a naked woman lounging on a divan. “What’ll ya have?” he asked.
“Is Artie Lawrence in?”
“Ya, he’s in back.”
“Would you tell him Virgil Sims is here?”
When the bartender left, one of the customers said, “Virg? Is that you?” He was a tall, thin man with an angular face. He walked over and extended his hand. “It’s been a long time.”
“Well, I’ll be damned, Hank Foster,” Virgil replied, shaking his hand.
“Where ya been?”
“Working here and there just waiting to get called back.”
“Did they call ya for that Rockefeller Center?” Hank asked.
“Ya.”
“Virgil, my boy!” someone bellowed. A large man with heavy jowls and a thick head of gray hair came out from the back room.
“Uncle Artie!” Virgil exclaimed, and they shook hands heartily.
“So glad you’re back!”
Virgil put his arm around Billie. “This is my fiancé, Billie Bassett.”
“Nice to meet you.” Turning to Virgil, he said, “I wish your folks were alive to meet her. She’s a tall drink of water.”
Virgil winked. “That’s the way I like ‘em.”
Billie laughed.
“Welcome to our little village of Caughnawagas,” Artie said.
“Thank you.”
“Our home away from home, right, Uncle?” Virgil added.
“Yes, right here in New York City.”
“Billie’s from Minnesota.”
“That’s close to Canada,” Uncle Artie said. “Most of us are from a reservation up around Montreal.”
He gestured for them to take a booth, and they sat down. Artie said to the bartender, “Fix these kids some sandwiches and bring over some beers.”
“How is everyone?” Virgil asked, lighting a cigarette.
“Better now that there’s work. The boys are back skywalking again and happy about it. Did you get called for the Center?”
“I did.”
“Where are you going to live?”
Virgil shrugged. “Maybe with Les until we find something.”
“That might be nice for Miss Bassett. Bunny is down here now too.”
“Bunny moved here permanently?”
“Yes, the wives are finally moving down.”
Artie turned his bloodshot eyes to Billie. “You see, we have our own little Indian community here in North Gowanus. There are almost four hundred of us now. They even stock Indian ingredients at the grocer, and our priest says Mass in Mohawk.”
“Father Kilpatrick speaks Mohawk now?” Vigil with a chuckle.
“If you can call it that. He tries.”
The men spent another hour catching up, while Billie sat quietly eating her sandwich and drinking her beer. Her mind kept drifting off to what she had seen that day on the streets of Brooklyn. How she would love to capture its teeming essence with a camera: the sunlight streaming between the tall buildings, the colorful trollies, the careworn faces of the immigrants, the tattered awnings hanging over storefronts, and policemen on horseback.
She sighed and sipped her beer. But life was taking a more realistic direction now, and she must turn her attention to being a wife and someday a mother. Photography was nothing more than an amusing hobby and an expensive one at that.
“We better get over and see if Les and Bunny will put us up,” Virgil said, grabbing his hat.
“Miss Bassett, it was nice to meet you.”
“Please call me Billie,” she replied. “We’ll be family soon.”
Artie looked at Virgil and said quickly, “Yes, that’s right. We’ll be family soon.”
* * *
“Virg!” Bunny Sims cried when she opened the door. “When did you get in town?”
“Just today.”
She threw her arms around him.
Bunny was the first Indian Billie had seen with platinum blonde hair. It stood out in startling contrast to her dark skin and hard features. Her attire was equally surprising. She was wearing a transparent robe that revealed huge breasts and heavy hips.
The smile dropped from Bunny’s face when she saw Billie.
“This is my fiancé, Billie Bassett,” Virgil said.
“Sit down,” she replied. “I’ll get us a beer.”
The apartment was small but clean and tidy. It consisted of a kitchen, living room, and one bedroom. They sat down on the sofa, and Virgil murmured, “Les has done better than most here. He has three rooms. Most of us can only afford two room apartments.”
Bunny returned and handed them each a glass of beer. “Virgil Sims, you better tell me that you’re staying here.”
“Can we? Just for a few days until we can find a place.”
“Of course,” she replied, sitting down and lighting a cigarette.
“How’s Les?” he asked.
“As if I’d know. All he ever does is work. I don’t know why the hell I came down here. I never see him.” She ran her eyes over Billie. “Where are you from?”
“I was born in the Midwest.”
Bunny smirked and said, “The Midwest, huh? Do they still live in teepees out there?”
“Quit it, Bunny,” Virgil said.
After some small talk, Virgil gulped his beer and said, “I have to get down to the local before it closes, so I can get my card and get to work.”
“Thank you for putting us up, Bunny,” Billie said. “Where shall we put our bags, so they aren’t in the way?”
“Just throw them over there in the corner. You two will sleep out here in the living room.”
When they stood up to leave, Bunny grabbed Virgil again. “Give us another hug,” she said, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her breasts against chest. “It’s just so good to see you.”
“Um, you too,” he said, gently pushing her away. Blushing, he looked at Billie.
Billie clenched her teeth, vowing to find an apartment as soon as possible.
* * *
That afternoon, Virgil was hired, and three days later, they found an apartment in North Gowanus. Billie knew this was incredibly lucky. Men stood in line for jobs, sometimes for days, and Virgil was employed and making a good wage the morning after he applied.
She was overjoyed with their new apartment. It was a small two-room dwelling three flights up in a brownstone tenement. The building was well-kept, and the tenants were considerate. It was dirty when they moved in, so the first day, Billie scrubbed the floors, washed the woodwork, and wiped out the cupboards. A wall with a mullioned window divided the kitchen from the bedroom, so one of the first things she wanted to do was sew curtains.
The second day, there was a knock on the door. Billie was on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor. She pushed the hair from her face and stood up. A large raw-boned woman with long gray hair in a braid was at the door. She was panting and holding a large box.
“Billie?” she asked.
“Yes?”
“I’m Betty Lawrence, Virgil’s aunt.”
“Oh!” Billie exclaimed. “Come in.”
“Thank you, dear.”
“Let me take that,” Billie said, taking the box and putting it on the counter.
“Whew! That was a climb up those stairs.” Pointing to the box, Betty said, “Whenever someone sets up housekeeping here with us, we all throw something in a box to help them get started. Go ahead. Open it, honey.”
Billie pulled open the flaps. Inside were kitchen utensils, an old coffee pot, some plates, saucepans, tin canisters, a lunch box for Virgil, and some bed linens.
“This is wonderful!” Billie exclaimed.
Betty nodded. “It can be overwhelming starting out. I remember. Virg told me that you love to read. In a few days, I bring over some books.”
“I can’t thank you enough,” Billie said and then looked around helplessly. “I can’t even offer you a cup of coffee. I’m sorry.” She grabbed a glass out of the box. “How about a glass of water?”
“No, thank you, sweetheart. I’ll come back for coffee when you’re organized.” As she was leaving, she stopped at the door. “But I just have to ask before I go. What did you think of Bunny Sims?”
Billie’s eyes grew wide. She didn’t know what to say.
Betty laughed. “She’s some piece of work, isn’t she? But Les just adores her. I think he feels lucky to have her, and she reminds him of it regularly.” She reached out and squeezed Billie’s hand. “Don’t worry. We’re not all like her.”
* * *
With Virgil’s first paycheck, they bought a used wrought-iron bed, a dresser, a small kitchen table, and four mismatched chairs. Every day after that for two weeks, Billie worked on making the house a home. She painted the apartment a cheerful yellow, hung curtains, sewed a print apron to hang in the kitchen to brighten the room, and carefully cut out several pictures from magazines to hang on the wall of their bedroom.
Billie was up before the sun each day to make Virgil breakfast and pack him a lunch. He worked long hours but was happy to be back skywalking and to have Billie to come home to each night.
One by one, the women in Virgil’s family stopped by, bringing treats or housewares for the apartment. Billie liked them all except Bunny Sims. Unfortunately, Les was Virgil’s favorite brother, so Billie was forced to see her more than any other woman in the community of Mohawk steelworkers.
Over time, Billie fell into a routine. When her housework was complete, she would read for an hour, shop for supper, and run errands. Upon returning home, she would experiment with different recipes for dinner. She loved being a housewife, and Virgil was always appreciative.
One night, he was late getting home, and Billie began to worry. Accidents were common for overhead steelworkers, and when they occurred, they were usually fatal. Finally, she heard his footsteps, and the door burst open. He was carrying a large box and grinning.
“What have you been doing, Virg?” she cried. “I have been worried sick!”
“Just wait,” he said, walking over to the table and setting down the package.
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