by Nancy Carson
‘Oh, I don’t know, Dulcie. You’re nice and trim.’
‘Yeah, and I intend to stay that way. You, too, huh?’
‘Oh yes. Till I’ve had six children at least…I do like your dress, Dulcie. It’s very smart.’
Dulcie laughed generously and thanked her. ‘Wool and angora. I bought it in London. Forty-nine shillings and sixpence. You know, I don’t think I’ll ever fathom your English pounds, shillings and pence…Say, tell me about yourself, Maxine? How’d you get into this band of yours?’
Between tastes of wine, which she thought was unnecessarily sour, Maxine gave Dulcie a potted history of her music and everybody connected with it. Inevitably, she ended up telling her about Howard and how she came to be on board the Queen Mary when it had not been her intention.
‘But I guess I’d have felt the same,’ Dulcie said sympathetically. ‘It must have hurt real bad.’
‘It still does. Every time I think of it my stomach churns. It’s just too awful, but I’m determined not to let it spoil my enjoyment.’
‘Attagirl! But you miss this guy?’
‘Yes.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘I miss him terribly.’
Dulcie shook her head. ‘You got it bad, Maxine and that ain’t good. You need some shipboard romance to take your mind off things…A bit of a fling…Just a temporary arrangement.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t, Dulcie. I couldn’t live with myself.’
‘You couldn’t? Are you serious?’
‘Yes, I am…’
While the waiter served their hors d’oeuvres Maxine looked with awe at the standard lamps of that otherworldly restaurant. They were like nothing she had ever seen before, substantial, like the great pillars that supported the decks above, but topped with crystal up-lighters that emitted a subtle, subdued light.
‘Do you have a sweetheart at home, Dulcie?’ Maxine asked, seeing her companion dig into her plate with relish. ‘Somebody waiting for you when you get back?’
‘Hell, no. My mom’s busting a gut to fix me up with the son of one of my dad’s wealthy business colleagues. But he ain’t for me. The guy’s a creep. Say, why don’t you get something going with that drummer boy you got in the band?’
‘Who? Kenny?’ Maxine was taken aback by this suggestion.
‘Why not? You were dancing pretty close to him last night, huh?’ Dulcie smiled knowingly. ‘He’s real cute. He looks like Gene Krupa. Gee, he even plays like Gene Krupa.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t. Certainly not with Kenny…’
‘Brent, then, huh? I guess you’re real lucky playing in a band with such swell-looking guys. How come you never got off with any of them?’
Maxine shrugged and popped another piece of herring into her mouth. ‘I got off with Howard instead.’
‘Brent telephoned me when I got back to my cabin last night,’ Dulcie said, her voice suitably lowered as she revealed this confidential snippet. ‘He wanted to know if he could come to my room for a night-cap.’
‘You mean, a drink? In your cabin?’
‘Room – cabin…Yeah, that’s what he said. But I guess he meant something more than just a drink, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Really? You mean…? Do you think so?’
‘Hell, I guess so…I told him maybe some other time. I was just beat, Maxine.’
‘How did he know which cabin you were in?’ Maxine asked.
‘I guess he asked the telephone exchange. They have a list of passengers. Hell, even I have a list of passengers, Maxine. Cunard White Star like you to know who you’re travelling with.’
‘Fancy…’ Maxine said thoughtfully, surprised at how troubled she was by this revelation about Brent. Fancy him trying to tempt Dulcie…Maybe she should tell Dulcie some truths about Brent. It might ensure she would never consider entertaining him in her cabin. Yet why should she feel proprietorial? She had no claim on him. She had no claim on him at all. All the same…
‘I always used to fancy Brent, you know, Dulcie,’ Maxine blurted, ‘until I found out he was married. Or, rather, I thought he was married. It turns out he’s not. But he did live with a girl.’
‘He lived with a girl? You mean, in sin?’
Maxine nodded but her expression registered disapproval. ‘I don’t admire him for having never married her. Do you?’
‘Wow! But don’t you think that makes him kinda interesting?’
‘But what if she had become pregnant, Dulcie?’
‘Then maybe he might have married the girl – who knows?’
Maxine shook her head. ‘I don’t think so, somehow…Anyway, Eleanor was certainly interesting. She has the sort of figure men can’t stop gawping at and she flaunts it mercilessly. At least she flaunted it at the boyfriend I had at the time – Stephen Hemming. He ran off with her.’
‘And now they live in sin? Gee! Things really do happen in England after all. And I thought it was all cricket and garden parties. Who’d have thought it? Were you very upset, Maxine?’
‘No. I didn’t love him.’
‘And how about this guy Kenny? Is he married? He’s surely not married?’
‘I’m not sure about him, Dulcie,’ she answered truthfully. ‘I really don’t know how he’s situated.’
‘Gee, you could really have some fun with this Kenny guy, Maxine. He really appeals to you, doesn’t he? You know, there’s a kind of animal attraction about him, don’t you think? I’ve not seen it before in an English guy.’
The weather that day changed. During the bright and sunny daylight hours, the Atlantic was as placid as Rotton Park Reservoir in summer but, come the night, a wild and windy storm brought with it a heavy, rolling sea. Before they even embarked on the ship the band had heard other passengers on the boat train conversing, saying how mercurial the North Atlantic weather could be. That Thursday evening the storm worsened and it became so rough that barely anybody showed up in the restaurants. Most folk remained in the privacy of their cabins, nauseous, unable to face food. Others preferred to stay on deck where they could at least discern something of the intermittent horizon in the murky weather. The ship’s musicians were supposed to keep playing, but with nobody to play to, the exercise seemed pointless.
On its maiden voyage, they discovered that the Queen Mary had an alarming propensity to roll in heavy seas, and this night was no exception. Most passengers were suffering from seasickness and, as the weather gradually worsened and the pitching increased ever more terrifyingly, absolute fear supplanted mere seasickness.
The Owls and the Pussycats decided that in any case they were due for a break. It was hard enough for Maxine to try and keep up with the untethered grand piano she was chasing as it lurched dangerously from side to side of the stage with the rolling of the ship. She was scared, too, as was Pansy. They needed the succour, the courage and the reassurances of their male colleagues. So, they all decided to sit on the Promenade Deck, which was enclosed and shielded from the elements.
‘Try and fix your eyes on a distant point of the horizon,’ Ginger Tolley advised. ‘I remember going to the Isle of Man once on the ferry and we had a vile storm. Everybody on the ship was sick. But I found it better if I kept me eyes on the horizon.’
‘But the bloody horizon keeps disappearing,’ Kenny yelled over the din of the crashing seas, clutching one of the substantial deck chairs in an attempt to stop his own sliding about.
The horizon was discernible from time to time, illuminated by frequent lightning flashes. One minute it was up in the air at a terrifying angle on the starboard side of the stern, the next moment it swooped out of sight and all they could see was the sky and its angry lightning. Then, as the ship rolled and the stern dipped, the elusive horizon would reappear on the port side, high in the air again but tilted the other way. And this seemed to be going on all night.
Maxine and Pansy were terror-stricken. Pansy clung to Toots as if her life depended on him, and Maxine was grateful that Brent held her so reassuringly tight, telling her softly not to worry, that i
t would soon be over. She felt dreadful. Several times she lurched from the deckchair she and Brent were occupying to vomit at a discreet distance from him, and returned pale and utterly miserable to his lap. She welcomed his comforting arm around her and his lips caressing her hair as she rested her head on his shoulder so helplessly.
It was after two in the morning when she opened her eyes. She was still nestled in Brent’s arms on the deckchair, but the storm had abated. The sea was no longer crashing against the bulkhead, the thunder and lightning had ceased, the wind had stopped howling and blasting sea spray even as high as the Promenade Deck.
‘You’re awake,’ Brent said.
She shivered with cold and fatigue. ‘How long have I been asleep?’
‘I’m not sure you were strictly asleep. I think you might have fainted.’
‘I think I did. From fear’ She raised herself up and run her fingers through her hair. ‘I’ve never been so frightened in my life. How long since it’s calmed down?’
‘An hour, maybe. You’ve got some colour again now. You were as pale as death.’
She shivered and rubbed her hands over her arms as she looked about her. ‘I’m frozen. Where are the others?’
‘They all went back to the Verandah Grill. Toots and Ginger and Charlie wanted a drink.’
‘Ugh! Not beer? I could drink some water, though.’
‘Let’s go there then.’
‘Looking like this? No, I think I should go back to the cabin. I must look dreadful.’
‘You looked beautiful on my lap. Like a kitten all curled up. But if you’d rather go back to your cabin I’ll take you.’
‘Sometimes, you’re too good to me, Brent.’
‘I know…Steady as you get up. Here, let me steady you. There’s still quite a swell.’
The pitching of the ship, though much less severe now, pushed her into his arms again and he relished the additional opportunity to feel the warmth of her body against him in her slinky evening dress.
‘You wouldn’t think a ship this size would toss about the way it has, would you?’ she remarked, detaching herself from him. But, as compensation, she offered her hand so that he could catch her if she lurched again.
‘Depends on the sea, I expect,’ he commented as they walked to the door into the Cabin Class main entrance. ‘But I understand they do have a serious problem with this ship rolling. They’re talking about pulling it out of service so they can fix it.’
‘It needs it if tonight’s anything to go by. I hope we don’t have to go through this again. It takes the shine off it a bit.’
Crew were cleaning up everywhere, carrying mops and buckets and cleaning fluid. Brent and Maxine went to the lift and descended to Deck C, still chatting about the ship and the weather. When they reached the girls’ cabin, Maxine opened the door. Pansy was already in her bunk.
‘Thanks for looking after me, Brent,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know what I’d have done if you hadn’t been there.’
‘You’re welcome. Anybody would have been glad to look after you.’
‘But you were there for me, Brent. Thanks.’ She gave him a sisterly peck on the cheek. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, sweetheart. See you in my dreams.’
Although the sea on that crossing never regained the tranquillity it had when they left Southampton, the swell that persisted after the night of the storm was tolerable and things reverted back to normal. The Owls and the Pussycats played in the Tourist Class Lounge for an afternoon concert on the Friday, to enthusiastic applause, and during the evening until midnight. After that, they did their one-hour guest appearance in the Verandah Grill till two o’ clock in the morning once more. This spot was gaining in popularity, especially with the younger passengers, and word spread that a cool jazz band from England was performing there every night.
During the day, nobody had seen Dulcie and they assumed she’d suffered because of the storm but, on the Saturday night, she appeared in the Verandah Grill after midnight with her mother and father. She had insisted, she told the band later, that they come and listen and, she said, they were mightily impressed; and her father knew a thing or two about jazz bands.
The band’s relationship with Dulcie was an easy one. None of the lads seemed to make any great play for her, which surprised Maxine since she had believed Brent would, especially as he’d telephoned her in her room one night. But, if anything was going on, she, Maxine, was certainly not aware of it. She did notice, however, that Dulcie was making cow eyes at Kenny frequently and he was flirting with her more. Yet, he seemed to be keeping her at arm’s length. Nothing romantic seemed to develop between them; and that surprised her, given Kenny’s appetite for girls – especially pretty girls.
As the weekend slipped by everybody was affected in some way by their imminent arrival at New York. On Sunday evening everybody enjoyed a farewell dinner and, after their stint in the Verandah Grill, the band went out onto the Sun Deck in the dark to look for the Nantucket Light Ship and the Ambrose Channel Light Ship that signalled the start of the shipping lane into New York and the official end of the transatlantic crossing. It was five o’clock on the Monday morning.
Dulcie said her goodbyes to each of them in turn. It might be the last time they saw her, for she really had to go to bed now for a while, at least until the ship docked in New York. She would disembark sometime after breakfast.
‘I sure hope you guys are still playing on this ship next time I go to England,’ she said tearfully. ‘You’re great guys and I’ve had such great fun with you. I love you all.’
The best view of New York is the one you get from the Sun Deck of the Queen Mary as you steam majestically up the Hudson River; and it seemed that the whole ship’s company was there to witness it that sunny Monday morning of 9th November 1936. The liner had weighed anchor at the Quarantine Station to await clearance to proceed upstream from Customs, Health and Immigration. Everybody felt the excitement as little tugs with mighty engines then guided her between Brooklyn and Staten Island, past the Statue of Liberty off the port bow. Some folk felt apprehension, perhaps; others felt relief. But there was a buzz everywhere. Immigrants tended to view with fervent hope this new land they saw, spiked with glistening skyscrapers pointing towards the vast New World sky. For them, it was the prospect of a new beginning, another opportunity. Those returning home regarded it with love and pride, for it never failed to invoke gasps and sighs from fellow travellers who had never seen the city before. Manhattan exuded an undeniable beauty as its fabulous mixture of tall Gothic and shimmering Art Deco buildings glinted unashamedly in the sunlight. But those grand monoliths of human endeavour also engendered a kind of confidence and reassurance; those folk were about to arrive in a land of extreme competence, where competence was welcomed and valued for the good it could do.
It was also a land of extremes. There existed inconceivable wealth on one hand and insufferable poverty on the other. Hope and despair lived side by side as did success and failure. The northern states of the Union doled out unbearable cold in winter and the southern ones stifling heat in summer.
The sight of it elicited a smile of admiration on the face of Maxine Kite. New York was some place she had only ever read about. It had no special significance for her before this voyage. Before today, it had existed only in her imagination, mythical, as unreal as Lilliput and as alien as ancient Babylon. But no words could describe what she saw now; no photograph could ever do it justice. Already she could sense the atmosphere. Never mind three thousand miles, it was three million miles from everything she had ever known.
‘I’m dying to have a look around, aren’t you, Pansy?’ Maxine said to her friend as they looked across the mouth of the Hudson River leaning on the rail. The ship’s horn blasted and she put her hand to her ears.
‘First thing I’m going to do is go to one of those posh shops and buy some new knickers,’ Pansy said. ‘I’m just about fed up with the ones I’ve got.’
‘Yes, y
ou could do with some new knickers,’ Toots readily concurred.
Pansy looked at him aghast and dug an elbow in his ribs.
‘Ouch! What was that for?’
‘You’re not supposed to know what her knickers are like, Toots,’ Maxine informed him judiciously. ‘If you do, at least be discreet about it.’
The others sniggered at his faux pas.
‘First thing I’m going to do is buy a hamburger,’ Charlie Holt said. ‘I’ve always wondered what they taste like.’
‘I’m going to study the women,’ Kenny admitted. ‘To see how they’re different to English women.’
‘Now there’s a surprise,’ Maxine said.
‘But they seem different, American women.’ Kenny explained. ‘You only have to look at Dulcie. Their hairdos are sleeker as well. Have you noticed that, Brent?’
‘Maybe they can afford to have their hair done every week,’ Maxine suggested. ‘In England, most people can’t.’
‘They seem more pleasant as well, American women. I like women who smile. I can’t stand sourpusses.’
‘Looking at all this, I’d say they’ve got a sight more to smile about. Especially now they’ve got a new President. Roosevelt says he’s going to get them out of the Depression.’
‘Look there,’ Ginger Tolley said, pointing. ‘That’s the Empire State Building over there. They say you can go to the top of it. I reckon we should do that.’
‘I’m going to buy some new clothes,’ Maxine said.
‘Knickers?’ Brent asked.
‘Maybe knickers.’ She shrugged, suggesting her knickers were of no relevance to him, for all his attention. ‘But I’m going to get a couple of new stage dresses. One of them sparkly with sequins or something – black, maybe. Maybe a silver one – I don’t know yet. And I’m going to buy a new dress and some trousers for daywear. Have you seen how many American women wear trousers?’
‘I know,’ Pansy agreed. ‘Well-cut ones that clip your bum nicely. Yes, that’s a good idea, Maxine. I think I’ll look for some trousers as well. And a nice pullover to match.’