He made sure they dropped Pauline first. “I’ll be right back,” he said as he helped her out of the taxi.
Billie watched them climb the steps of the brownstone building. Pauline linked arms with Max and stared up into his face, not watching her footing. She stumbled several times before they went through the door.
Moments later, Max returned. He slid back into the taxi, lit a cigarette, and said, “What the hell was that all about, Bassett?”
Billie looked down at her hands. “I thought you two would be good together,” she mumbled.
“Kindly leave cupid to me,” he barked. He ran his hand through his dark hair where Pauline had rumpled it. “That put a real damper on my New Year’s Eve, you know. Never again. Promise?”
She nodded. “Promise.”
The cabbie turned around. “Where to now, bub?”
Max looked at Billie. “What would you say to a little more New Year’s Eve?”
Billie wrinkled her nose.
“You owe me,” he warned. “I need to salvage what’s left of tonight. Have ever been to a Black and Tan?”
“No, I don’t even know what that is.”
“They’re nightclubs where, instead of just snooty Whites, different races mix. They have the best music in the city. I have a friend who owns one. Shall we go?”
“I could use some fun.”
“Just what I wanted to hear.”
Max gave the cabbie the address, and they drove to Mr. Simms Nightclub in Harlem. It too was jammed with revelers, but instead of just Caucasians, Mr. Simms was crammed with guests from different ethnic groups. The tables and dance floor were packed with Negros, Asians, and Whites, all socializing and dancing together.
“We won’t get a table here,” Max said in Billie’s ear.
She shrugged. She was too enthralled with the woman singing. “She sounds just like Billie Holiday.”
Max chuckled. “She does because that is Billie Holiday.”
Her jaw dropped. “No!”
“Yes, she had a private party at the Waldorf tonight, but she decided to end her night here. I called Simms earlier to see who may drop by.”
Billie shook her head. “Max, you amaze me.”
Holiday started to sing “All of Me,” and Max took her hand. “Come on. I haven’t had a decent dance all night.”
“I don’t know, Max,” she teased. “An Indian dancing with a Jew?”
“They’ll allow it,” he replied with a wink. “I know the owner.” He led her onto the dance floor.
When he took Billie in his arms, he pulled her so close she could feel her breasts pressing hard against his chest. She tensed up, but Max danced with such confidence; the moment he began to move her around the floor, she relaxed.
Billie looked up at him and said, “I’m sorry if I ruined your night.”
“You’ve redeemed yourself. Now, I’m having fun.”
They continued dancing. “It’s just that you are such a great guy, Max. You deserve someone wonderful.”
“And you’ll decide who that is?”
“Not anymore.”
“Good.”
“Haven’t you ever thought who I might be good with?” Billie asked.
“Oh, I’ve thought about it.”
“And have you thought of fixing me up with someone?”
“Never.”
She stopped dancing and looked up at him again. “Why not?”
“Because it could ruin our friendship, and I don’t want that.”
“Like what I did tonight?”
He opened his mouth to say something then changed his mind. “That’s not quite what I mean.” He started to laugh. “Sometimes you are so obtuse, Billie.”
They started dancing again.
She put her head on his shoulder and said, “You called me Billie. You don’t do that often.”
He swung her around and said, “No, I save it for special occasions.”
* * *
The next few months, Billie grew closer to Max. They had been good friends before, but now they had become best friends. He was the first person Billie went to when she was upset and the first one she looked for when she was happy.
And it was obvious Max felt the same way. He came to Billie about everything. The phone would ring at all hours, and she would hear him say, “Grab your hat and meet me at the Tick Tock Diner. I have news.”
One afternoon, as Billie sat at her desk sorting and organizing files and folders, a note caught her eye. Her jaw dropped, and she dashed across the newsroom to show Max. “You have to see this! It’s from Vinny,” she said, handing him the note. “He’s doing backstories on Olympians and thought I’d be interested since this guy is Indian.”
Max looked up at her. “Who?”
“Felix Welles. I told you about him.”
“Oh ya, the runner.”
“Yes, a marathon runner.” Billie laughed. “He did it! He made his comeback.”
Max read the highlights of the bio. “It says here that he was in the ’24 Olympics. How is it he was riding the rails after such an accomplishment? Did he have a run of bad luck?”
“He did. He lost his wife and started drinking.” Billie looked off as if she could see Felix once more. “The guy never completely lost his drive. I remember he would run for miles with Hazel on his back just to train.” She blinked as if waking up. “I thought he was dead or on a chain gang somewhere. God, but I’m happy for him.”
Max handed back the note. She picked up his half-eaten sandwich and took a bite. It tasted stale. She grimaced and put it back, saying, “I’m hungry. You wanna grab something to eat soon?”
“How about I introduce you to Jewish food tonight?”
“I live in New York, Max. How can I not know Jewish food?”
“But this is the real thing.”
She shrugged. “All right.”
“Let me finish up and we’ll go.”
An hour later, they were riding in a cab across town. Billie looked out the window. “Where the hell are you taking me?”
“You’ll see.”
At last, they pulled over. The cabbie pushed down the arm on the meter, and Max paid the fare. They slid out, and Billie scanned the street. Homeless people were warming themselves at fires. Surly looking men leaned on buildings smoking as prostitutes paced searching for business. Broken down tenements and empty warehouses lined either side of the street. “Where’s the restaurant?” Billie asked.
“Right up here,” Max said, guiding her up stone steps into an apartment building.
“Hi ya, Max!” a man in a flat cap said at the door, cigarette hanging from his lip. He had an Irish accent.
“Mickey!” Max replied, slapping the man’s back. “How are the boys down at Sullivan’s?”
“Swell, just swell. Stop down for a pint?”
“Will do.”
Once inside, they walked up more stairs. From inside the units, Billie could hear babies crying and couples talking and smell cooking.
“So, we are eating at a friend’s house?” she asked.
“Kind of.”
At the top floor, Max knocked on a door, and someone unlocked several locks. A short, plump, elderly woman in an apron opened the door.
“Hello Bubbe,” Max said, kissing the woman. “I brought my friend, Billie, tonight. I hope that’s okay.”
“It’s okay,” the woman said in a German accent. She looked up at Billie and smiled. “Come in, sweetheart.”
“Billie, this is my Grandmother Silverman. My mother’s mother.”
“Call me Bubbe,” the woman said. “Beautiful girl,” she said to Max, winking.
“Nice to meet you,” Billie said, smiling and slipping off her boots.
The living room was crammed with furniture, cheap knick-knacks, rows and rows of books and smelled of heavy cooking. A blue parakeet was flitting in a cage, and Billie walked over. “That’s Quasimodo,” Max said, coming up beside her.
She laughed. “A big
name for such a little bird. Does your grandmother like The Hunchback of Notre Dame?”
Max rolled his eyes. “I guess.”
“Dinner will be ready soon,” Mrs. Silverman said from the kitchen.
“May I help you with something?” Billie called back to her.
“No, you sit. You are a guest.”
When Billie sat down, she fell back abruptly, her arms and legs flying. The chair had lost its springs.
Max started to laugh. “Sorry, forgot to warn you.”
Readjusting herself, Billie asked, “Is this where you grew up?”
“Several blocks down, but I hate it here. I’ve offered to set Bubbe up in a safer neighborhood, but she won’t do it. This is home to her.”
“I can’t imagine trying to get my grandmother to move. She would only go kicking and screaming.”
“We start with the matzah ball soup, ya?” Bubbe announced, setting a large ceramic tureen on the table.
“You always make enough for an army,” Max observed, sitting down next to Billie.
“Yes, so eat up,” Bubbe said, starting to fill bowls. She looked at Billie over her glasses and asked, “So are you a Jewish girl?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Are you sure? You look like you could be.”
Max smirked.
“Well, unless the Mormons are right about the Lost Tribes of Israel, I’m quite sure I’m not.”
Mrs. Silverman continued, “So do we have a wedding soon?”
“Honestly, Bubbe,” Max exclaimed, “have some tact. Billie is a co-worker and friend.”
The old lady shrugged. “I am seventy-five and must cut to the chase. I could go anytime.”
“I knew she’d get around to that sooner or later,” Max said to Billie.
Mrs. Silverman continued, “My little Maxy’s parents are gone. His brother is getting married. He needs someone.”
“Enough!” Max roared.
Billie tasted the soup. “Oh, this is heavenly, Mrs. Silverman.”
“Call me Bubbe.”
“All right, Bubbe.”
“I didn’t like the first wife,” Mrs. Silverman said. “Nose in the air.”
Billie glanced at Max. He had pursed his lips as if trying to keep quiet.
“She only came once. That was enough,” Mrs. Silverman said. “Now more food.”
“You only just sat down, Bubbe,” Max said as she waddled back into the kitchen to retrieve the rest of the meal.
Next came schnitzels with fried onion kasha and peas followed by bite-sized chocolate rugelach for dessert. Billie was stuffed. After washing dishes, they sat down in the living room with coffee. Quasimodo jumped around in his cage, vying for attention.
After some small talk, Mrs. Silverman took off her glasses and darted a look at Max. “I have something to tell you, darling.”
“What?” he asked.
“Your brother.” She hesitated.
Max narrowed his eyes.
“He decided to go back again.”
“What!” Max said, jumping up. “He can’t!” he barked, reaching for the phone.
“You can’t call him,” Mrs. Silverman interjected. “He’s already gone. A friend brought a note the day after he left.”
Max stared at her with his mouth open and then dropped down into a chair. “I can’t believe it,” he mumbled. “He is such a fool.”
Billie sat motionless, watching him.
“I am scared for my darling,” Mrs. Silverman said.
“Oh, but Bubbe,” he said suddenly. “He is an American. He’ll be safe enough.”
Billie knew he was trying to gloss things over to calm her fears.
He patted his grandmother’s hand. “It’s not like we are at war with Germany,” he continued.
“Not yet,” Mrs. Silverman replied.
“And we may not ever be. Too many people are opposed. Did Frank say where he was going?”
“He is starting in Berlin.”
“May I see the letter?”
Mrs. Silverman opened a drawer and gave Max the note.
Billie watched the blood drain from his face as he read it.
“So, he will be fine?” Mrs. Silverman asked, twisting her hands in her lap.
“Yes, don’t worry. He is an American.”
“If only Elise was American,” she replied.
He stood up and handed back the letter. “I have an early day tomorrow. We should go.”
Billie gave her thanks, and they left. Once in the cab, she asked, “Max, what on earth was that all about?”
He sighed and rubbed his forehead. “My brother is engaged to a chemist in Germany. He went looking for her, and I don’t feel good about it.”
“Is she Jewish?”
“She is Jewish,” Max replied.
Chapter 20
Max was on edge for weeks. They had received only one letter from Frank, and he had not found Elise. At last, he sent a wire saying he was on his way home.
“I’m so damned relieved,” Max said to Billie that evening at the Tick Tock Diner. “He’s getting in tomorrow night.”
“What do you think happened to Elise?”
“God, I hope nothing terrible. She could be lying in a hospital somewhere dying.” He shrugged and shook his head. “I’ve heard dark rumors about the National Socialists rounding up Jews, but that’s probably nothing more than sensationalism.”
“Well, at least Frank is safe.”
“Yes, and thanks for being there for me,” he said.
“Of course.”
Looking down, Max started fiddling with his lighter. “I know this isn’t the time or the place, but I wanted to tell you─” he hesitated, “that seeing my brother so frantic about Elise got me to thinking, and well─”
Billie started to laugh. “What’s eating you?”
He smiled a crooked smile. “All right, here goes. Waking up in the morning with someone, coming home at night and hugging them, these are things I want but not with just anyone. Quick encounters are one thing; long-term intimacy is quite another. Could you─ do you feel the same way?”
“Of course, I do,” Billie replied, and again she laughed. “That piece has always been missing for me too, that intimacy you are talking about—love.”
“Do you think you have found it?”
“Of course not. You’d be the first to know.”
The smile dropped from his face, and he looked down. “Ya, sure.”
The waitress came with more coffee, and Max waved her away. “Shall we?” he said, standing up. His chair scraped the floor.
Billie was confused; the conversation ended so abruptly, and she mumbled. “Yes, I guess I’m ready.”
As they walked out, she said, “So glad things turned out well for you, Max.”
“Ya, they really did.”
* * *
Billie saw less of Max after that night. He was aloof, seldom calling, unavailable for dinner, and curt with his answers. But his attitude didn’t worry her. He had done this before and always snapped out of it. He’s being dramatic about something, Billie thought. But he’ll come around again.
Winter seemed long that year. Max was gone from her life. And even though The Times had her busy day and night, she grew anxious. She tried to stay on the go, but she missed him. Many evenings, she dined with friends from the newspaper, but she was lonely.
One night, when she was out with the Corky, Lillian, and Leonard at a small Italian restaurant, Leonard said, “Say, I ran into Max last night. He looks good. I hadn’t seen him in ages.”
“Where did you see him?” Billie asked.
“At Grady’s Pub. At first, I thought he was with you. The dame looked just like ya.”
Lillian and Corky exchanged looks.
“She did?”
“Ya,” Leonard continued. “She had black hair like you, really dark eyes, and that same tall, lean shape. A spitting image.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“Nah,
I just said hi and moved on. They looked like they wanted their privacy.”
Billie frowned, and suddenly, she wasn’t hungry anymore. “I didn’t know he had someone new,” she commented and then looked from Corky to Lillian. “Did you know?”
Corky raised an eyebrow. “We knew.”
“Well, what’s with all the secrecy? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Lillian shrugged. “We didn’t want to tattle.”
Billie felt her face grow hot. “Why would it be tattling? I’m not his mother.”
“You most certainly are not,” Corky said, laughing. She sat back and lit a cigarette. “I’ve seen them a couple of times, and the likeness between you and this woman is uncanny.”
Billie shrugged. “So what?”
Corky pursed her lips and shook her head. “Honestly, Bassett, sometimes you are so obtuse.”
Billie frowned. Max had said that to her.
“Well, she’s very pretty,” Lillian said. “And Max certainly looked smitten with her.”
Billie mumbled, “So that’s why I haven’t seen him.”
“Are you going to finish that?” Leonard asked, eyeing her plate of spaghetti.
“No, I’m not hungry after all,” Billie replied, pushing it over to him.
* * *
Billie was furious with Max for weeks. Some friend he is, she thought. The moment someone better comes along, he casts me aside. I guess I’ve served my purpose: I listened to him, I supported him, and I comforted him. Flighty, that’s what he is, flighty and impulsive. I’m through.
Yet, in the back of her mind, Billie believed Max would tire of this woman and return to her soon, so she waited.
Spring came to New York City, and the snow melted. Gradually, Billie adjusted to a world without Max, but the city now seemed empty and lackluster. Many nights, she couldn’t sleep, the feeling nagging her that changes were on the way.
And then it happened.
One Saturday morning, she stopped into Glaser’s Bakery for a baked good. It was part of a routine she had of treating herself once a week. Sometimes she would buy a pfeffernuesse, sometimes a buchtel or a slice of kuchen. This particular sunny morning, she was in the mood for a doughnut. “Guten morgan, Irene,” she said to the young woman behind the counter.
“Guten morgan,” the petite blonde replied.
“I would like a donut, please,” Billie continued in German.
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