Rags to Riches
Page 29
‘I’m going to buy lots of postcards as well, to send to everybody I know,’ Maxine added excitedly. She was engrossed in this vista of New York, in all that it meant to her, in the circumstances that had brought her here. ‘I want to let everybody know I’m in New York…I can’t believe I’m in New York, actually, Pansy. Can you?…New York! It’s something to be proud of. I want everybody to know.’
‘I can guess who’s top of your list…’
‘You mean Howard? Yes, course he is…’ Then an awful realisation struck her, like a spear to her heart. It manifested itself in a look of horror on her face. ‘Pansy, I don’t know his new address. I don’t know where he lives now. It’s Monday today. He’ll have left Quinton by now.’
‘I thought you said he was writing to you, care of the ship, Maxine. You’ll know his address when he writes.’
‘If he remembers to write at all,’ Brent scoffed, ‘which I doubt. I told you not to trust him, Maxine.’
‘Oh, shut up, Brent,’ Pansy said angrily, anxious that her friend should not be upset again, for Maxine seemed to have been tolerating her heartache well…until now.
New York was everything that it promised to be. It was late afternoon and dark when The Owls and the Pussycats went ashore, leaving behind the Queen Mary berthed at Pier 90. The Customs Hall was clear of passengers by this time and they progressed through quickly. Pansy and Toots wandered along West Fiftieth Street for the first time hand-in-hand, followed by the other five who alternated their company one with another. West Fiftieth was like no other street they had seen before; long and straight and wide, flanked on both sides at the western end by the warehouses of importers and exporters, factories and cheap chophouses. Charlie realised his first ambition when he tried a hamburger, advertised as the finest on the eastern seaboard by the German owner of the kiosk that sold it. They passed countless blocks of brownstone tenement buildings but, as they progressed eastwards, those gave way to shops and stores and restaurants.
After about three-quarters of a mile, they reached Broadway. Not only was it longer and wider then West Fiftieth, but its thousands of neon lights dazzled, calling attention to the smart shops, glamorous restaurants, bars and theatres. Neither had they seen so many large, curvaceous cars that caused an endless traffic jam, nor heard quite so many people who were not speaking English.
They paused here and there to ascertain which celebrities were appearing at the theatres. As the evening wore on, Broadway seemed to get busier, the neon lights brighter. Street photographers pestered them and they succumbed to one. It would, after all, be a good idea to have one or two photos to send to their families back home. They walked on, blind to victims of the Depression that littered the streets, soaking up the atmosphere, admiring the beautiful clothes the well-heeled New Yorkers were wearing. The clock at the top of the Paramount Building said ten to nine, and they knew they had reached Times Square. They stood and watched with awe and wonder the magically animated neon advertisements that seemed to occupy entire buildings. This was a different world, and they revelled in it.
As they walked on, lingering at this or that window, Maxine found her hand in Brent’s. It simply seemed comfortable to hold his hand while they strolled. It did not signal any change of allegiance, merely companionship. She could just as easily have taken the hand of Ginger or Charlie or Kenny – she probably would later – but Brent’s was suddenly there. She found it hard to believe that it had been a whole week since she and Howard had last seen each other. A whole week since her anger had erupted. Yet, looking at it from another viewpoint; in only a week she was here in this fantastic city and home seemed light years away. Her anger existed no longer. The voyage and this place had all but blotted it from her mind. If she saw Howard now, there would be no resentment, just pleasure at seeing him again. No animosity. The hurt had gone, too. Now, quite simply, she missed him. She missed the romance, the tenderness, the togetherness and she missed the sheer intimacy and pleasure of lovemaking. Six months ago she would never have believed it possible that she could have missed lovemaking.
Kenny had been missing for about fifteen minutes when suddenly he reappeared from the direction of West Forty-second Street. He made a beeline for Brent.
‘I like the look of a place just down here,’ he said in a half-whisper and pointing. ‘I reckon us lads should go and take a peep.’
‘What sort of place?’ Brent asked.
‘It’s a bar, like.’ He winked, but his expression was serious.
‘I’m game,’ Brent said, letting go of Maxine’s hand. ‘Anybody else coming?’
Ginger Tolley said he would go with them, so long as Charlie and Toots were prepared to stay with the girls. It wouldn’t be fair to leave the girls on their own in a strange city.
‘Oh, don’t worry about us,’ Pansy said scornfully. ‘We’ve been known to roam the streets of Brum without you.’
‘You don’t mind if we split here, do you, Maxine?’
Maxine shrugged, feigning indifference. ‘Why should I mind, Brent? Do what you want and we’ll see you back on the ship in the morning. Charlie can be my chaperone.’ Smiling, she took Charlie’s hand and allowed him to lead her in the opposite direction with Pansy and Toots.
‘Where shall we go?’ Charlie asked, flattered.
‘Oh, let’s just walk,’ Pansy suggested. ‘It’s fun just seeing the sights. Everything’s so different.’
So they walked, and Maxine felt slighted that Brent had decided to take off with Kenny and Ginger. But she soon forgot her pique when, walking back along Broadway on the other side, she noticed a billboard advertising the Benny Goodman Swing Band currently appearing in the Madhattan Room at the Hotel Pennsylvania.
‘We must go to that,’ she almost shouted. ‘We must go and hear Benny Goodman.’
‘Well, maybe not tonight,’ Toots said, ‘but we could find out about tickets from the Travel Bureau on the ship. They’ll get tickets for us.’
‘For tomorrow, do you think?’
‘We can ask.’
They walked on, and Charlie clung to Maxine’s hand proprietorially. After about a mile they saw, on the corner of Broadway and Fifty-third, an old theatre that had evidently been converted. Brilliantly lit letters, at least eighteen feet high, announced the Billy Rose Music Hall. It happened to be an elaborate night-club set out like the one in the Al Jolson film, Wonder Bar. When they had studied the showcases in the foyer, they decided to go in and be entertained. You could enjoy supper and a show for only one dollar twenty-five cents each. So, hungry by now, they had supper and roared at a comedian called Ben Blue and his stooges, and midgets called Olive and George. A trained seal performed some dazzling balancing tricks, dancers and chorus girls had Toots and Charlie ogling. The finale had the boys ogling even more when footage from the 1919 epic film The Fall of Babylon was shown along with a tableau of live nude girls.
‘They don’t put shows on like this in Brum,’ Toots said, incredulous.
‘Thank God,’ Pansy responded.
‘Well, I’m coming here again tomorrow night.’
‘Then you’ll come on your own,’ Pansy replied indignantly. ‘I don’t want to see naked women flaunting themselves. What do you say, Maxine?’
‘Each to their own, I say…Have you seen the time, you three? I reckon we’d better get back to the ship. I wonder how the others have got on?’
Chapter 22
At breakfast next morning, the band swapped experiences. None of them were up early, since it had been a late night. Toots told the other lads what a great time they’d had in the Billy Rose Music Hall – eaten for one dollar twenty-five – even a tableau of beautiful naked women.
‘If you wanted to see beautiful girls,’ Ginger said, ‘you should have been with us. Wouldn’t leave us alone, eh, Brent? Eight or nine women clamouring for us,’ Ginger went on. ‘And I ain’t exaggerating.’
‘How come?’ Maxine asked. ‘They can’t be that hard up for men in New York.’
‘If you dance, there must be a band playing.’
‘No, Maxine. Just a jukebox.’
‘So how much did you spend, Kenny?’ Pansy asked.
‘Two dollars.’
‘You must be mad.’
‘Mad I might be, but I didn’t half enjoy it. This girl called Blanche seemed to take to me,’ he said proudly.
‘I expect she takes to everybody,’ Pansy remarked, unimpressed.
‘You should have seen her, Charlie – blonde, pretty, incredible figure. She was wearing a tight blue dress…and I swear that’s all she was wearing.’
‘How old was she?’
Kenny shrugged. ‘Eighteen or nineteen.’
‘Disgusting,’ Pansy exclaimed. ‘Prostitutes. I hope you didn’t…’
‘I don’t think she was a prostitute, Pansy. They call ’em hookers here. She wasn’t a hooker. I paid her my first dollar and after we’d had a dance – which is when I realised she’d got no knickers on, nor anythin’ else – we had a drink together. She told me they work on commission and that’s why they almost fight for you when you arrive. They get commission on the drinks you buy ’em, and on cigarettes. You can even buy ’em perfume there and they get commission on that as well. Shame for them, really. They’re not prostitutes. Blanche seemed a nice kid.’
‘You seeing her again?’
‘I might. If we go there again.’
‘She’d got no knickers on and you reckon she ain’t a prostitute?’ Pansy scoffed. ‘You’re losing your marbles Kenny Wheeler if you think that. Why d’you think she’d got no knickers on? Because it was too warm in there? She’d got no knickers on so’s when you danced with her and had a feel round you’d know. When you felt her bum – as you men always do when you dance close to a girl – you’d know she’d got no knickers on. It’s to light you up, Kenny – to excite you so’s you want to have her, even if you have to pay. How much did it cost to have her?’
‘I didn’t have her.’
The other lads guffawed in disbelief – all except Brent who remained silent.
‘What? That’s not like you. How much would it have cost then?’
‘Two dollars and fifty cents,’ Kenny admitted. ‘Two dollars fifty and she would have spent the night with me. But she didn’t. She went missing after I’d danced with her.’
‘See?’ Pansy said. ‘Off with somebody else, I expect.’
Maxine glanced at Brent. His eyes had not met hers for ages. He seemed intent on watching the bubbles floating on his coffee as her twirled his cup around in its saucer. He had not spoken, as if he wanted no part of this discussion.
‘What was your girl called, Ginger?’ Maxine asked.
Ginger blushed to his roots and grinned sheepishly. ‘Mona.’
‘Mona?’ Kenny repeated with derision. ‘And was she a moaner?’
Ginger shrugged non-committally.
‘You ought to know. I watched you go off with her at about midnight.’ He turned to Maxine and then Pansy. ‘She must have been a right little moaner. He said he didn’t get back till after six this morning. Neither did Brent, come to think of it.’
‘So you had your two dollars fifty’s worth as well, Brent?’ Maxine deduced. ‘Very nice. So what was yours called?’
‘Ignore him, Maxine,’ Brent replied huffily.
‘Did she have a pretty name too, like Lulu, or Suzie, or Jeanie? Presumably, she’d got no knickers on either?’
‘How come you didn’t spend the night with this Blanche when you had the chance, Kenny?’ Brent asked pointedly, going on the offensive. ‘Normally you’d be breaking your neck to bed a woman. Yet, when it’s handed you on a plate you shy off. Something the matter down below, is there? Caught a cold in your old man, have you?’
‘Mind your own bloody business, Shackleton,’ Kenny responded sharply, alarmed and angry at Brent’s accurate assessment. He scanned the faces of the others for their reactions but he needn’t have worried. Venereal disease was further from their worlds than the planets Jupiter or Neptune. Nobody had any idea what Brent had insinuated. They were simply alarmed at this sudden flare-up which, just as quickly fizzled out.
On the Tuesday Pansy and Maxine took a cab and asked the driver to take them to Fifth Avenue, where they gazed in wonder at the fantastic shops. Maxine bought herself a new black stage dress with sequins as she had planned and Pansy, not to be upstaged, bought a new dress as well. In the evening they met up with the others and, having acquired tickets, went to listen to the Benny Goodman Swing Band at the Hotel Pennsylvania. When they returned to the ship afterwards, inspired, they played for passengers who had already boarded early for the voyage to Southampton, determined to be as good and as original as the band they had just heard.
The return crossing was relatively uncontroversial. New faces, more concerts in the Tourist Lounge, a dance in the Third Class Lounge, late night appearances in the Verandah Grill and, by special request of the captain, a concert in the Cabin Class Lounge before lunch on Sunday. It was hard work playing all these hours and so late into the night, yet it was enjoyable enough, for they met and befriended lots of very nice people.
Such intensive regular performing made the band competent. They learned to read each other’s musical minds better so that complicated interplay between instruments became second nature. Stimulated by the Benny Goodman experience, Maxine and Brent insisted they practise more, learning new material to enlarge their repertoire and honing to perfection what they already performed. Maxine wanted, and seemed to be getting from everybody, more accurate intonation and more carefully articulated phrasing. They read music of course and indeed, much of what they learned was from arrangements that Brent had written, but she wanted something more expressive. They had to learn the music by heart. She wanted them to play the notes, not just read them. She wanted a style that was tight yet loose, regulated yet liberated, exact and reliable yet open to individual creativity.
She completed the song she had begun, ‘Destiny Jests with Me’ and the band incorporated it into their repertoire. It was a medium tempo number, which Maxine sang stylishly. Some sparkling riffs from trumpet and clarinet featured, underscored with some growling, poignant trombone passages from Brent. It was beginning to go down very well with their audiences.
Maxine had written it for Howard, about Howard. It symbolised her hopes and dreams that, when these eight weeks of to-ing and fro-ing across the winter Atlantic were over, they could settle down to a steady relationship that would culminate eventually in marriage. Maybe the others realised it, simply by virtue of the lyrics, but nobody other than Brent commented. Although New York and what little she’d seen of its vibrant, abrasive culture had excited and diverted her, she still felt in limbo where Howard was concerned. She knew well her own feelings already. She pined for reconciliation, ached to be in his arms again. He felt the same, she was certain, and this belief comforted her immeasurably. But to be apart when they had so much to put right – when they were both so eager to put it right – was painfully frustrating. Was it her own stupid pride that had driven this wedge between them? Or had the undeniable envy she’d felt, watching her friends joyfully preparing to embark on this chance of a lifetime adventure, prompted her to seek any excuse to join them, even at the expense of Howard? Well, if she had she was sorry. For now, she wanted Howard back.
She waited agonisingly for his letter. Monday arrived and the short stopover in Cherbourg. By early afternoon they were heading towards Southampton. There had been talk that if they were delayed and missed the tide up Southampton Water they might have to wait several hours for the next. Pray that they weren’t; she wanted her letter.
There was no delay. The Queen Mary tied up at the Ocean Dock, watched by crowds of sightseers, friends and families who had arrived to meet
passengers. But after New York, Southampton seemed such a sleepy, parochial town. What on earth would sophisticated New Yorkers make of it, Maxine wondered?
She went to her cabin. No sense in rushing off anywhere yet; let the passengers disembark and clear Customs; allow time for the mail to be brought to the ship.
‘I wonder what time they bring the mail on board?’ she mused to Pansy.
‘No idea. Brent might know. He’s always asking the stewards things.’
She stepped out into the corridor and knocked on the door of Brent’s cabin. When he answered it, he looked as if he had just woken up from an afternoon nap.
‘Brent, do you have any idea what time they bring the crew’s mail on board?’
‘I haven’t a clue, sweetheart, but I’ll go and ask for you. You never know, I might even get some mail myself.’
‘Will you let me know, then? I’m expecting a letter from Howard.’
He nodded and smiled pleasantly. ‘Okay. See you later.’ He closed the door.
Maxine brushed her hair and freshened her makeup in the mirror in the cabin she shared with Pansy Hemming. At the immediate prospect of receiving Howard’s letter she began to feel nervous. What would he have to say? There would be no gushing sentimentality, that much was certain, for he was not like that. Even after their rift and his desire for them to be reunited quickly, there would be no mushy emotion. He could express his love eloquently enough and she was looking forward so much to his reassurances and confirmation of his commitment to her. She was anxious to know how things were in his new parish, how the move had gone, what the vicarage was like. Did he have a curate working with him? How had his new parishioners received him? What suggestions would he have as to when they might be married? Funny how she was more inclined towards marriage ever since he had mentioned it. It had never before been a concern…
‘I think I’m ready,’ Pansy announced, admiring herself a last time in the mirror. She sighed theatrically. ‘It’s so difficult to improve on perfection…’