[Juliana 02.0] Olympus Nights on the Square

by Vanda

  “According to the research. I myself have had no real experience with it. And we don’t know if Dr. Krimsky will choose your husband for the first study.”

  “He must. Tell him he must, Doctor. Scott can’t stay here for years.”

  “I’ll do my best, Mrs. Elkins.” He stood, extending his hand to me.

  I went back into my helpless female pose, holding his hand for support and awkwardly fluttering my eyelashes like a sick pigeon about to burst into flight. “Oh, please, Doctor, I know I will just expire if you don’t help me.” My insides began to quake for real.

  “I promise that I will do my utmost.” He smiled one of those smiles a man gets when he knows a woman can’t get to the next moment without him. He took my arm to help me from the room. Unfortunately, by then, I really needed it.

  * * *

  When Archibald, our colored elevator operator, left me off outside my apartment, I didn’t want to face Max. I wondered if the wire from Scott’s grandma had arrived yet. Had Max left the poor woman standing alone in that cold, dreary Port Authority Bus Station? I didn’t want to deal with any of it. I wanted to curl up under my covers and listen to one of Juliana’s albums, or better yet, curl up under Juliana.

  I pushed open the door, dreading my first sight of Max looking to me for hope and me dashing it into smithereens. I was greeted by a burst of Christmas carols playing on the hi-fi in the living room. Max and an old woman in a striped dress straight out of the thirties were decorating the Christmas tree and laughing. Tinsel rain draped both of their heads.

  “Merry Christmas!” Virginia called over Santa Claus Is Coming to Town, as she entered from the kitchen carrying a tray. “Eggnog, Al?” She was dressed in green and red and sparkled like she might be all right. I’m sure she must be. After all, it’d been three years since the incident with Moose Mantelli. But I wondered why, if everything was so fine, Virginia and I hardly saw eacth other anymore.

  Virginia put the tray on the table. “Help yourself, everyone, but be careful. I didn’t hold back on the rum.”

  “Al, this is Martha Bond,” Max said, coming around the Christmas tree, pulling tinsel rain from his hair. “You know, Scott’s grandma.”

  I stared. “Yeah?”

  The woman came toward me with her hand extended. “Call me Mattie. All my friends down home do.” Her accent was thicker than Scott’s. Instead of shaking hands, she squeezed my left hand in her left hand. “You’re the one who called me, ain’t ya?”

  “Did you know, Al?” Max said, excitedly. “Mattie is the number one bingo champion in her county?”

  “Is she? Bingo. How nice.”

  “My mother was a champion bingo player, too,” Max informed me. “In Cincinnati.”

  “Was she?”

  “This is Scott’s wife,” Max told Mattie.

  “Huh? Oh, yeah,” I agreed. “That’s me. Mrs. Elkins.”

  “You’re Scott’s wife?” Mrs. Bond said. Her brow furrowed into a question. “If I rightly recollect, on the phone you said you was his friend.” She took a sip of her eggnog. “Virginia, this is good. You did say you was his friend. You didn’t say nothin’ ’bout being his wife.”

  “Uh, I guess I forgot.”

  “You forgot?”

  “She sure can be forgetful sometimes, Mattie,” Max said. “Why don’t we all sit down and enjoy our eggnog.”

  Virginia looked at me strangely, but knew well enough not to give voice to her question.

  Max sat in the overstuffed chair near the couch and Mrs. Bond sat on the couch; Virginia sat beside her, and I sat in the overstuffed chair closest to Virginia.

  “Al, tell us about your visit to Scott,” Max said.

  I raised my eyebrows, trying to signal Max not continue that discussion.

  “How is he?” Virginia asked.

  “…Fine.”

  “When are they going to release him?” Max asked.

  They faced me with hope in their eyes. “Well, you see—”

  “His wife, huh?” Mattie said. “Scottie never wrote me about you.”

  “It was fast,” I offered. “We couldn’t wait a minute longer. So in love.”

  “Was ya? And he wanted to marry the likes of you. How queer. I never figured my boy’d wanna marry no girl, but if that’s what makes him happy …” She drank from her glass while we all leaned toward her, staring. She finished the drink and put the glass down, noticing us watching, and said, “Yeah?”

  “Uh, Mattie,” Max began. “You never figured Scott would marry a … girl?”

  “Nah. But I wanna see him happy, and if he is with you, then God bless him. Still, it seems strange for him to suddenly take up with a gal. I always thought he was, uh, well how’s the polite way of sayin’ it?”

  “Gay?” Max offered, nervously.

  “Oh, no, Scott ain’t gay,” she said with a laugh. “He’s the least gayest person I ever did knowed. Such a serious child. Thinking, stewing, trying to be too good. It gave me the worries he’d never get one bit of fun outta his life. No, my Scottie ain’t someone anybody’d call gay.” She chuckled. “Do you have any more of that eggnog, Virginia? I can’t say when I tasted better.”

  “Certainly, Mrs. Bond.” Virginia took her glass.

  “Please. Call me Mattie. My husband’s been dead so long I can’t hardly recollect what he looked like.”

  “Can we go back to how Scottie never seemed interested in girls?” Max asked.

  “I always thought he were a homosexual, myself.”

  “You did?” Max said, breathless. “And that didn’t bother you?”

  “Heavens, no. Another part of nature. I’m an old farm girl myself, and anybody with eyes to see with and ain’t scared of lookin’ can see what’s plain as the nose on your face. On a farm ya see it everyday. Homosexual sheep, cows. I had a couple of lesbian cats once.”

  “You did?” I gasped.

  “If I didn’t know you was his wife, I woulda guessed my boy woulda preferred you, Max.”

  “Uh, Mattie,” Max began. “I hope you’re serious because …” Virginia stared off into space, like she did sometimes. I held my breath. “I am the one Scott prefers. Al’s not his wife.”

  Mattie chuckled and slapped her knee. “Do I know my boy or do I know my boy?” She feigned wiping her brow. “Phew, I thought I had really gone and lost my sense of things.”

  “And you don’t mind?” Max continued.

  “Why should I? I don’t put much store by what other folks say, if that’s what ya mean.”

  “No. It’s Scott. He hates himself for this. He says he’s a sinner.”

  “That why Scott tried to do this awful thing to hisself?”

  Max nodded and Mattie continued. “My daughter. She got herself ‘converted’ a long time ago; Scott was a young’un. Her husband run off with another gal, and my Cady-did were searching all over for somethin’ to replace that son of a gun. Unfortunately, that religion were what she found.

  “Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m a church-goin’ woman myself. I sing in the choir, and I’m head of the Ladies Auxiliary, but it seems to me ya gotta pick and choose what ya gonna live by. Ya can’t go swallowin’ up everythin’ whole ; otherwise, why’d God put brains in our heads to be thinkin’ with ? But my daughter felt so lost after her husband run off, she took to this religion like it were her life preserver in a ragin’ stormy sea.

  “She raised poor little Scottie on that joyless religion, and there t’weren’t nothin’ that boy wouldn’t do for his Mama. He loved her. Always trying to please her, but I swear my Cady was so filled with the misery she couldn’t see it no how. And there t’wern’t nothin’ he done that make her happy. Then she up and died of the influenza when he was ten. I tried to school him different, to be a little more carefree, but he hung onto Cady’s religion like she done. I guess it was a way of hangin’ on to her. Now, it seems he were even gonna let it kill him.”

  “Well, we don’t know for sure he tried to, uh, you know, …�
�� I began. “But now the hospital says he can’t leave because he’s a violent homosexual. They’ve got some law that says they can keep him till he’s cured because—he committed himself.”

  “He done that?” Mattie said, making a tight fist around the handkerchief. “What can I do ‘bout that?” She looked to Max.

  “Don’t you worry,” Max said. “They have lawyers, but so do we. We’ll get him out of there. And if he needs some special treatment we’ll get him into a private sanitarium. Don’t you worry, Mattie.” He looked over at me, agony creasing his face and whispered like was too painful to talk any louder, “Committed himself?”

  1 $342 had the same spending power in the 1950s as $2,000 does today.

  Chapter 69

  “SO, LUCILLE, I thought we’d have lunch together today,” I said as Lucille and I sat at a table in Child’s. The windows were decorated with Christmas wreaths. “I’ve been at the club so little this week with Scott being sick, and making the arrangements for Juliana to go to Paris, I thought the least I could do was buy you lunch in gratitude. You’ve been a gem.”

  “I love doing it,” Lucille said, sliding off her gloves. “I’ve always been very organized. Even as a child, I had my toys ordered on the shelf in alphabetical order.”

  I smiled. Lucille was often hard to read, so I wasn’t certain if she was making a joke or not. The waitress stood at our table. “How about a cocktail to start?” I opened my drink menu.

  “I’d love a cocktail, but I don’t think I should go back to the club tipsy.”

  “I doubt one cocktail from Child’s will make you tipsy. I’ll have a sidecar,” I told the waitress.

  “The Child’s Special sounds yummy. Have you ever had that?”

  “I haven’t. I’ve always been a sidecar drinker.”

  “That’s Juliana’s drink too, isn’t it?”

  “Uh …” I hesitated. “Yes, I believe Juliana does drink sidecars.” I turned to the waitress. “One sidecar and one Child’s Special.” I handed her our drink menus. “You’ve met Juliana?”

  “Heaven’s no,” she squealed. “If only I could. Is she as sophisticated in person as she is on stage?”

  “I’d say so.”

  “I think I was in love with her a few years ago.” She giggled and hid her face behind her hands. “It seems childish now, but I had one of those girl crushes on her. My girl friends and I would go to her shows, both sets, whenever she appeared at the Copa. In between shows we’d go ordered a drink, and sit at one of the tables, pretending we were sophisticated ladies. We’d watch Juliana, the way she moved, the way she held her drink, and the way she laughed with the men. We wanted to be just like her. Sometimes, we’d see her with her husband, Mr. Styles, and a couple times, you were drinking with her.”

  “Was I?”

  “We couldn’t stop giggling. My boyfriend laughs at me when I tell him how I used to be about her. But I haven’t told him this part.” She leaned toward me and whispered, “I may be a little the same about her still. I have all her records: My Romance is my favorite.”

  “I like that one too.”

  “I hate to ask you, but … no, I can’t. It would be a bother, and I don’t want—”

  “Would you like to meet her?”

  “Could I? I mean, I wouldn’t want to bother her, but if there was any chance …”

  “I’ll see what I can do. With getting ready for Paris, she’s a little distracted right now, but we’ll see.”

  “I wouldn’t want to disturb her, but if there was some way I could—maybe help her. Oh! I can feel my heart beating so fast.”

  “You’d better slow it down. I can’t promise.”

  “I know.” She took a deep breath and opened her menu, then closed it again. “I almost forgot. I gave my word.” She reached into her handbag, drew out three envelopes, and handed them to me. “Mr. Marty Buchman, or Buck Martin—he likes that better—has been calling all month and leaving messages for you. Sometimes he comes in looking for you.” I opened the envelopes and found numerous little paper squares with notes scribbled across them. “He gets so disappointed when you’re not there. I kept promising to give you these, but you always needed to talk about other things so … I’m sorry, I should’ve told you. I told him I was having lunch with you today, and he made me promise to give these to you. They’re in the same order he gave them to me—starting with the envelope marked #1. He worries me. He’s been very despondent lately.”

  “Marty’s basically a happy guy, but I haven’t been attentive to the office recently … Excuse me. I want to skim through …”

  “Certainly.”

  I quickly thumbed through the notes, while Lucille looked over the menu. They all had the same theme, but with each passing date, they grew more desperate. “Call me. No one will hire me after those reviews.”—“Help!! Help! Agent useless. Find me a new one.”—“Where are you?”—“Can I sing at The Haven or don’t you want me there, either?”—“Lots of jobs opening in TV, none for me.”—“This FBI guy keeps following me. I can’t go anywhere without him. Help!”—“Don’t you care anymore?”—“Did those reviews convince you too I’m bad?”—“Where are you dammit!”—“Help, drowning! Starving! Dying.” Then I came upon one at the end of the pile, which was less desperate, more deliberate. “I think I have no choice but to come clean.”

  Come clean? “I’ll call him today.” I slipped the envelopes into my purse. “Lucille, there was something I wanted to speak to you about.”

  She peered over her menu. “Oh, no, did I do something wrong?”

  “No. You’re doing a terrific job. But you must’ve noticed Bart hasn’t been around this past week. You’ve had more to do.”

  “I don’t mind. I think at heart I’m a career woman like you, and a woman can’t have a career and a marriage. You know how men feel about their wives working.”

  “You’re still young. You have time to decide. At some point, you’ll want children.”

  “A little boy and a little girl.”

  “Well, you can’t have them without being married.”

  “Was deciding not to have children a big sacrifice for you?”

  “It wasn’t something I ever thought about, so I never really made a decision. But most women want children.”

  “I might be like you. I really think a career might fulfill me. I know the world thinks women like us are horrible, selfish creatures, but there must be another way to give to the world besides babies.”

  “What about the boy and girl?”

  “I like helping you put out good entertainment for people to enjoy. Maybe it lifts them out of the blues, and gives them hope. Having babies isn’t the only way a woman can give to the world. Giving good entertainment is giving too. Don’t you think?”

  “I’ve never thought of my job like that, but I like the idea.” Maybe this work is the absolutely, completely wonderful thing I dreamed of doing when I was eight. “We’d better order. I have to see Scott this afternoon.” I signaled for the waitress. “Oh, and I still haven’t told you. Bart.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  The waitress walked up to our table.

  “What are you going to have?” I asked Lucille.

  “I’ll take the vegetable plate.”

  “You don’t want some meat or fish? Did you look at the Child’s Suggestions section? It’s on me. Live a little.”

  Lucille smiled as she folded her menu. “Dieting. I’m doing the DuBarry Success Course. The works, the diet, the skin care, the make-up.”

  “I don’t see why you need it, but everyone seems to be doing the DuBarry these days. I’ll have the deviled crabmeat cakes with Newburg sauce,” I told the waitress, handing her our menus.

  “It’s my rear end,” Lucille whispered after the waitress had gone. “The rest of the program is extra. Don’t you think my rear end is too big?”

  “Uh—well, I never thought about it. So … Bart. I had to fire him.”

  “Oh, no.
How awful.”

  “Please don’t make me feel worse than I already do.”

  “I meant how awful for you.”

  “I’ve never fired anyone before. It didn’t feel good.” My mind wanderered back to the day I told Bart. He stood over me and said, “Nobody fires me and gets away with it.” He slipped his hand into his pocket and I jumped out of my chair. He grinned an ugly, knowing grin and slid a nail file out. “What on earth were you thinking?” Filing his nails, he sauntered backwards out of my office, all the time grinning at me. He talk-sang, “There’ll come a time, now don’t forget it; there’ll come a time when you’ll regret it …” The sound of him repeating that refrain floated ghost-like into my office as he walked down the hall and out the door past Georgio. It continued to haunt my dreams.

  “You really have nothing to feel bad about,” Lucille said. “Bart was a nice man, but he was irresponsible. I don’t see anything wrong with, well …” she whispered, “I personally don’t care if he’s a homosexual. Is that why you fired him?”

  “No. I fired him because I couldn’t count on him to show up for work.”

  “Being homosexual doesn’t make a person automatically irresponsible, but the two might go together.”

  “Uh, yes. And since Bart is gone, I’d like to offer you his job.”

  “Oh, Al, I—don’t know what to say. This is a dream come true.”

  “You may not think so once you’ve started. Lots of work with long hours.”

  She sat up straight, shoulders back. “I’m ready. And now that I’m your assistant, I can keep an eye on Bertha for you.”

  “Bertha? Why would you need to ‘keep an eye on her?’

  “I don’t know; there’s just … something.”

  Chapter 70

  “THIS IT?” MATTIE said as we stood outside the gates of St. Sebastian. “My Scottie’s in there?”

  We stood before a giant iron fence, which wrapped around the dusty buildings of St. Sebastian Hospital, Psychiatric Division. We could see through the bars into a yard covered with patches of dying grass in front of a gothic building. It looked like the set of a Hollywood haunted house movie. I practically expected to see ghosts floating out of its roof. The words “Abandon all hope ye who enter here” came to mind as the guard opened the gate, and we stepped through.