The Trials of Nellie Belle

by Sydney Avey

  Leone opened the front door and pointed toward a small grove of eucalyptus trees.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Watch out for the poison oak.”

  While the two women were gone, Leone packed up her typewriter and a valise of clothing. Before she zipped the bag, she shoved the tin cup inside. Shutting the door behind her, she fell in step with her friends as they walked past the hut. Rosemary eyed the valise and typewriter case. “Going somewhere?”

  “I’ll show you around the Dunes. After that, I’m going to try to talk you into driving me up to Portland.”

  29 - Visit

  29

  Visit

  Not long after the Wolffs left Oregon, ill health forced Nellie to surrender and allow Opal and Felix to make room for her in their small California bungalow. When it was time to pack up and leave Portland, Nellie looked through her letter box for the collection of short stories she had titled Leaves from a Reporter’s Notebook. She didn’t find them. Her creative writing teacher had seen promise in her last assignment, the one about Clara. Although it was not Nellie’s favorite, the instructor had encouraged her to develop Clara’s tale of woe for publication, going so far as to suggest a title:“The Woman with no Visible Means of Support.”

  Is that what she looked like now? After years of supporting herself and setting aside money for her old age, her small savings were proving inadequate. Today she was being ferried back to California in Felix’s DeSoto, her few worldly goods stuffed in the trunk. Felix lit an El Producto and launched into a monologue.

  “George Burns’ favorite. Opal won’t let me smoke them when Jane is in the car. Bothers her asthma, she says.” He raised the cigar in the air and looked over his shoulder at Nellie. “Might do her good to smoke one, I say. What do you think, Mother Scott?”

  “I think it’s a good thing for all of us that Opal found a neighbor to watch Jane.”

  What am I going to do with myself at their house? Nellie considered her options. Her favorite fashion magazine, McCall’s, had recently started to publish fiction. Perhaps she could sell her stories. She’d have to find them first.

  While Felix drove, window down, puffing on his infernal cigar, Opal sat in the backseat beside Nellie, her hands folded in her lap.

  “Mother, there is more in life you may rely on besides money.”

  Nellie stiffened. Was Opal a mind reader? Sitting straight, allowing no contact between her spine and the back of the seat, she inspected the stiff fabric of her shiny black dress, dusting away the occasional white speck of cigar ash that fell on her skirt.

  “How does Felix afford such a fancy car?” Nellie asked. “What make did you say this is?”

  “A DeSoto Airflow.” Felix volunteered an answer in his loud, cheery voice—compensation for his small stature, Nellie always told herself. “How’s the ride back there, Mother?” The top of Felix’s derby hat bobbed up and down to a tune the tires played running over ruts in the road.

  “The ride is quite comfortable, Felix.” Opal smiled at her mother. “Felix can afford this car because, in good times or bad times, people always want candy, and Felix is an excellent salesman.”

  “My customers love me, Mother. Don’t you worry.”

  Nellie pulled her shawl tightly around her shoulders. “I make it my practice not to give myself anything to worry about, Felix, but a little worry might do you good. A steady diet of cigars and candy cannot be good for your health.”

  Felix laughed and pulled open the ashtray to rest his cigar. “Got to have my smokes and my sugar, or life’s not worth living. Say, what do you do for fun?”

  “Fun is not something that has ever concerned me. Fun is for children.” Nellie leaned forward and peered over the top of the front seat. “Felix, put both hands on the wheel! Your car may be new and modern, but it won’t drive itself.”

  Opal placed her hand gently on her mother’s forearm. “Don’t worry, Felix is a good driver.”

  “I’m not worried.” Nellie clenched her teeth and pulled her arm away, adjusting her seating to be closer to the window. Felix began to whistle “Love Is Just Around the Corner.” He flipped on the car radio and started adjusting the knob. “A little Bing Crosby, ladies?”

  Has it come to this? Relegated to the backseat and forced to listen to a litany of love songs? Nellie steeled herself by staring out the window. She focused on the cliffs and dunes that towered above US 101 and fell into a reverie.

  Leone had lived in a hut perched on a dune somewhere in California. Her granddaughter had come to see her a few months ago; just showed up one day in an old jalopy with another young woman. If there was anything to worry about beyond how she was likely to fare as a ward of the Wolff family, it was what was to become of Leone.

  Nellie leaned her head against the car window, closed her eyes, and summoned Leone to her thoughts. The soft lips that used to turn up in her granddaughter’s teasing smile now pulled down into a tight jaw. No amount of makeup could conceal the puffiness around her eyes. Girlhood was gone, but it was more than that.

  Looking back, she had to admit that the last time she had seen her granddaughter, she should have chosen her words more carefully.

  R

  “You look tired. Are you getting enough sleep?” An innocent remark, but Leone had looked like she’d been slapped. During Leone’s visit, the girl seemed to take everything Nellie said as a criticism. No wonder she didn’t make it in Hollywood. Not a charitable thought.

  Leone had pulled her fingers through her closely cropped hair and forced a smile. “I don’t sleep very well these days. I lay awake at night worrying. How will I ever find a place in this world? It was easy for you, Grandmother. You always knew what you wanted to do. The world opened its arms to you.”

  So that was it. Petulance had not been one of Nellie’s character traits until age had got the better of her self-discipline. The response that had formed in her head, she did not voice. How old are you? Twenty-four? I was close to forty before I saw an opportunity, and I had to walk over a perfectly good husband to take it.

  But the time for lectures was over. By the end of her visit, Leone had relaxed enough to give her grandmother a glimpse of her new life. To Nellie’s way of thinking, her granddaughter appeared to be living in a ragtag community of poets, politicians, and polygamists, or whatever they called sexual adventurers. Passing hoboes, migrant farm workers, wandering mystics, and artists seeking each other’s company drifted to a colony some rich man had formed.

  “Famous people come to see us all the time.” A bit of the sparkle returned to Leone’s eyes.

  “Like who?”

  “Like Upton Sinclair, John Steinbeck, and Meher Baba.”

  “Humph. Sinclair and Steinbeck I know. Who is Baba? A baseball player?”

  Leone did not choose to enlighten her grandmother. Instead, she repeated the history of the Dune community. “Gavin says that Moy Mell is a place where money means not much and ideas mean a great deal,” she told her grandmother.

  “Gavin Arthur, the grandson of former President Chester Alan Arthur? That’s easy for him to say. He’s got both.”

  “You’ve heard of him? Why do you say it that way, ‘he’s got both’”? Leone imitated Nellie’s cynical tone.

  “Money and ideas; he can afford to bandy words around. It’s not an easy way to live when wild ideas are your only currency.”

  Now it was Leone’s turn to seethe. Nellie regretted her remarks, but it was increasingly hard for her to bite her tongue. Who replaced Leone, the happy hoofer that went to Hollywood, with this changeling? What caused this strident young woman to spew angry words about a dizzying array of social and political issues? Where were her manners?”

  Nellie expected that her granddaughter would stay several days, but Leone cut her visit short with an excuse that her friend Rosemary had set up job interviews for the two of them in San Francisco.

  “I’m disappointed you can’t stay longer. What sort of job?”
r />   “Oh, something in a publishing house.” Leone slipped into her coat.

  “Well, you’ll be near your mother. That’s good.”

  “Hah, I hadn’t thought of that.”

  When Nellie reached up to give Leone a hug goodbye, she felt the girl stiffen. It was true: Nellie rarely embraced members of her family. It wasn’t how she was raised. Tears came to her more easily these days, and she let them fall.

  “I love you,” she whispered. The words felt foreign on her tongue, but they had an effect.

  Leone’s body relaxed into hers. One arm hugged now-stocky shoulders; one cheek rested briefly on the thinning hair atop Nellie’s head. Smells of cigarettes and peppermint chewing gum and the lemony scent of Jean Naté invaded Nellie’s nostrils. Her granddaughter’s husky voice vibrated low in her ear. “Go live with Mother. I worry about you.”

  30 - Ditched

  30

  Ditched

  San Francisco, 1935

  Late one misty morning, Leone pushed through the swinging doors into the Black Cat Cafe at the edge of San Francisco’s North Beach. Ten-year-old Jane followed.

  “We can get some lunch in here.” Leone bumped past the checkered, oil-cloth covered tables and headed for the bar. Jane coughed and reached into her coat pocket for a tissue to wipe her eyes.

  “It stinks in here.” Jane planted her feet on the barroom floor. “It smells like cigarettes. Mommy wouldn’t like it if she knew you brought me here.”

  “She doesn’t have to know, does she?” Tugging on the sleeve of the girl’s wool coat, Leone coaxed her toward the bar. She slapped her hand on a barstool. “Up you go.”

  Jane placed her slim hands on the watermarked black counter, stepped her foot onto the stool rung, and hoisted herself up. Her hands rested flat on the bar for a moment. They stuck out of her navy blue coat sleeves like salamanders peeking out of a dark cave. She turned them over and inspected her palms.

  “This counter is sticky.” Jane unfolded a stray cocktail napkin sitting on the bar and began to wipe her hands. “Why did you bring me here?”

  Always those accusing eyes. Leone shivered and dug around in the pocket of her loose trousers for a packet of Lucky Strikes. “You know Mother has asked me to keep an eye on you. She needs to find a place that will take your father.”

  “Is he going to die?” Jane lowered her eyes but turned her head slightly to hear the answer.

  “What? Speak up. I can’t hear you when you mumble like that.”

  Jane raised her head and repeated her question. Her solemn blue eyes shimmered, but she held her lips tight.

  Leone set the cigarette package aside. She sat down on the barstool next to Jane and was quiet for a moment. Then she reached for her sister’s hands.

  Jane’s small, cold hands lay limp and weightless between Leone’s palms. Leone squeezed Jane’s icy fingers between her own warm hands.

  “I’m going to give you a straight answer. It isn’t likely that your father will ever recover from his stroke. Mother can’t continue to play nursemaid to your father and work swing shift in the cannery to make ends meet. A nursing home is the only answer.”

  Jane made no move to wipe away the tears that escaped her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

  Leone raised two fingers and signaled the bartender. “Scotch, up please.” She put a finger under Jane’s trembling chin and lifted her face. “Think of it this way. At least you got some time with your father. I never even met my father.”

  The bartender put a rocks glass down in front of Leone and slipped a coaster underneath. He pointed at Jane.

  Leone nodded. “Give her a Shirley Temple, Lou. Thanks.”

  Lou got busy behind the bar, pouring sticky red juice into a glass, pulling the soda, loading maraschino cherries onto a toothpick. “I’m glad that’s not for me.” Leone nodded toward Lou’s ministrations. She turned to Jane. “I have no taste for sweet stuff.”

  Lou made a show of arranging Jane’s drink on a napkin for her. “Who’s the little lady?” Jane straightened her spine and shot the bartender a stony look.

  “My sister. She’s older than she looks.” Leone turned to Jane.

  “You like tuna fish?”

  Jane nodded.

  Leone ordered a sandwich. “Take your coat off. You’re going to be here awhile.”

  “No. I’m cold.” Keeping a wary eye on Leone, Jane poked at the bubbles in her glass with a plastic mermaid swizzle stick.

  Leone took a long pull on her drink and lit up a Lucky. “Felix was okay. I just hate to see what he’s putting Mother through. I mean, she’s got Grandmother to take care of now, and you. The two of you can’t help her. She’s stuck in that little house on the peninsula. They should have stayed in the city where there are hospitals and nursing homes close by.” Leone finished off her scotch.

  “Why don’t you help her?”

  The question hung in the air. Leone looked toward the door. “Because I have my own life. I help her by staying away.”

  Lou set a sandwich in front of Jane and swooped up Leone’s empty glass. “Another?” He held up the glass. Leone looked at the door and nodded.

  “You got it. Say, Leone, you found a job yet?”

  “Aren’t you having a sandwich?” Jane set the second half of her sandwich down and pushed the plate away.

  Everybody’s got questions. Leone downed her glass of courage and picked up the portfolio she had brought with her. “Not yet, Lou. I’m working on it.” She turned to Jane. “I have to see a man about a job. He’s an editor, and he’s looking for an assistant. You can tell Mother about that. The job opportunity, I mean. Don’t tell her I had to leave for a few minutes to meet … to go to an interview.”

  Two heads poked through the swinging doors. Rosemary hailed her to join them out on the sidewalk. Leone threw a few bills down on the bar. “Lou, I won’t be long. Would you keep an eye on Jane for me? Give her a magazine to read.”

  Lou looked over at Jane. She shrugged. It wasn’t the first time Leone had made bad on a promise. “Okay, but go sit at a table, kid. I can’t have you sitting at the bar when people start coming in. “And you”—he jabbed a finger at Leone—“you behave yourself and don’t make us have to come looking for you, you hear? Aw, go have fun. The kid can sit over there and do some people watching.” He pointed to a small corner table with one chair that backed up to the wall. “Nobody will bother her. Okay with you, girlie?”

  Jane pointed to her empty glass. “I’ll have another.” Without looking at Leone, she slid off the barstool and took her uneaten sandwich to the corner table.

  R

  Jane had not been able to help herself. One day it just slipped out, the story of how Leone left her at the Black Cat bar until the after-work crowd was well into its second martinis. After that, Leone did not see much of her half-sister.

  Opal found a place that promised around-the-clock care for Felix in a home for the aged in San Francisco. The tiny but affordable vacation cottage they had purchased on the peninsula became home to Opal, Nellie, and Jane. It meant they couldn’t visit Felix very often, but the bedroom community provided a safe environment for Jane and employment opportunities for Opal and Nellie. Nearby San Jose boasted the largest canning and dried-fruit packing center in the world. Nellie insisted there was no reason why she couldn’t sit and cut cots along with the other women while Opal packed prunes. They got along.

  31 - Dogs

  31

  Dogs

  San Pedro, 1936

  When jobs failed to materialize for Leone and Rosemary, they moved to Rosemary’s hometown, the working class port of San Pedro in Los Angeles. One morning, the two women spread the weekend newspaper out on the kitchen table in their rented apartment. Rosemary clipped grocery coupons while Leone poured over the want ads.

  “What kind of a job are you looking for?” Rosemary asked.

  “I don’t know.” Leone dropped another sugar cube in the battered tin cup she drank her coffee from e
very morning.

  Rosemary wrinkled her nose. “Are you sure you won’t let me buy you a proper coffee mug?”

  Leone shook her head.

  “If it’s the money, I could bring one home from the restaurant. They let us take dishware after it gets too scratched up to use with customers.” Rosemary reached playfully for the cup. Leone batted her hand away.

  “I’ve told you, no. It’s my talisman.” Leone put her hands around the cup as if it were a priceless treasure instead of a hobo’s castoff.”

  “You’re a funny one, Leone. I’ve never known anyone quite like you. So, what’s the story with the cup?”

  “No story. It just reminds me of something a hermit once told me. Whenever I’m tempted to think too much about myself, I look at this old cup. Empty as I feel, dented as look, I can still hold out hope.”

  “Now you’re getting philosophical, but you still haven’t answered my question. What kind of a job are you looking for?”

  “At this point, anything. Are there any jobs at the diner? I could tend bar.”

  “I don’t think that would be a very good idea, do you?”

  “I suppose not.” Leone thought about the shot of whiskey she had slipped into her morning brew and wished for another. “What about the pet store your parents own. Do they need any help?”

  “As a matter of fact, they do.” Rosemary brightened. “They just lost their dog groomer. Do you happen to know how to groom dogs?”

  “Do I ever! There is not much about dogs I don’t know. I grew up with dogs. Dogs love me.”

  “I’ll go make a phone call.”

  It was as if someone handed her a hat and a rabbit jumped out of it. A week later, Leone stood behind the counter at Critter Cove Pet Shop, selling canned pet food and dog biscuits. “I can’t believe this,” she told Rosemary. “I get paid to play with dogs.”

  Pet food was in short supply. Wealthy people from Los Angeles found their way to one of the few pet shops that had managed to keep the doors open. A month after she started, Leone’s work schedule was filled with grooming appointments. She was not above working her connections. Hollywood starlets sent their Silkies, Shih Tzus, and Yorkies out to Critter Cove where they could be sure no small paw would suffer the nick of a nail clipper.