I put more water on to heat and opened a bag of fresh-made doughnuts from the church and took out two, biting into one and putting the other one aside to dunk.
Now that I thought about it, maybe it was Nancy’s quitting the twisting that drove Eddie off to Lyndora in the first place, disappointing him after all that work. He figured, who wants to hang around with a kid who isn’t even willing to stick with something after all the time he put in?
Maybe I should write Eddie back and ask if Nancy was what drove him off to Lyndora. Goodness, I could understand that. I could tell him I’d talk to her, make her practice, stick with the twisting. After all, I was her mother. I could put my foot down. The problem with me, I was too easy on her. Now that I thought about it, maybe I could even help him train her. Help her on and off with her robe or something. We could have a lot of fun, the three of us. It might be cute, your kid being a rubber woman.
I got up, poured hot water into my cup, and dunked a piece of doughnut. Sure. A letter would be the polite thing. The least I could do was write and say I was sorry to hear about his friend. I could just hold on to it until he got back.
Then what? I hated writing letters. Practically everybody I knew and their sister wrote to soldiers, but I always got too antsy to sit still, plus I’d go blank trying to think of something cute to say.
I thought about Eddie and some of the good times, having drinks and playing the jukebox over at the Tip Top. Going around to the different carnivals, eating our hot dogs and sno-cones, smiling at the lights and music, we were like the couples you saw in the movies.
I remembered once we played the duck pond game and and I won a pet whistle. He said, “Okay, doll, I’ll be your pet. Anytime you want me, whistle.” We laughed and laughed. Eddie was such a cutup.
Pouring more hot water over the teabag, I got a little stab of pain in my chest thinking about how things had started going bad. How Eddie’d sometimes go quiet and I’d get all flustered because he usually did the talking and when he didn’t I couldn’t think of anything to say except some fool thing like it seemed hotter than yesterday, more humid, even though I knew I’d said the same thing three times before. Eddie’d just nod and say yeah.
The tears started up again. Maybe I’d just write a cheery little note. Remind Eddie of all the good times we had, how we’d been through a lot together, too. Make him miss me a little. Suddenly the front door slammed and Nancy walked in calm as you please, strutting down the hallway toward the bedroom.
“I’ll thank you to stop slamming that door, young lady,” I yelled. “You practically scared me to death.”
Nancy looked surprised. I hardly ever yelled. “Okay, go ahead. Thank me. I’ll stop slamming it,” she said. She had a smirk on her face and I couldn’t tell if she was sassing me or not. It didn’t matter. It was the last straw. I sat down at the kitchen table and started bawling.
Nancy didn’t say anything for a minute, then came over and asked what was wrong and I told her I had a letter from Eddie and he was going to stay in Lyndora for a while.
“What do you mean a while? A couple of weeks or what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, what did he say?” She sat down across from me at the table looking like a human being for a change. I was so glad to have somebody to talk to, I told her she could read the letter for herself.
When she was done I asked, “Don’t you think it would be a good idea if I wrote back? Just a cheery little note. Maybe I could even say how you miss him helping you with the Rhonda routine.”
She sighed and looked out the window for a minute, then back at the letter. She shook her head and finally said, “You can’t write him back. There’s no return address.”
I decided to call Ethel and Chester, two old friends of Eddie’s, people we’d gone to the Tip Top with. Ethel was real friendly on the phone, said she didn’t know where Eddie was, these carnies, you can never keep track of them, but maybe Chester knew and, hey, they were coming over to Marysville next Wednesday so why didn’t we all go out and have a drink? I said yes, yes. I could hardly believe my luck. I’d been afraid she’d hang up on me or something, being Eddie’s friend. I figured it was a good sign.
I got my beige and orange shantung suit cleaned, bought some new dress shields, and a tube of hot coral lipstick. I wanted to put my best face forward so Ethel and Chester would tell Eddie how great I looked and he’d miss me.
Cora said I should just be nonchalant and act like Eddie’d probably left the address in the apartment and I’d misplaced it. I should say how sorry I was to hear his friend was under the weather, and then just casually ask had they, by any chance, met her.
“Keep it subtle,” she told me. “It wouldn’t hurt to be a little more scintillating, too,” she said. Cora loved to use big words. She didn’t care if people understood what she was talking about or not, and Nancy was getting just like her. She gave me a little joke book and told me to memorize a couple. She gave me a copy of Life magazine and said to pick out two things and read them so I could bring them up if there was a lull in the conversation.
“Short things are okay,” she said. “Like you could ask ‘Did you know General Eisenhower graduated 125th in conduct in a class of 160 at West Point? He got demerits for gabbing too much.’”
I took off work early on Thursday and got my hair set. It looked real cute, little curls all around my face and then a couple drizzling down on my neck. I was a nervous wreck getting dressed but I liked how the hot coral lipstick matched the orange trim on my suit. It looked real smart.
I had just put on my spectator pumps and was about to leave when Nancy came in with a bunch of violets she’d picked. “For good luck,” she said. I guess she meant well, she’d been acting nicer lately, but the violets were all wet.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” I complained, “don’t get them near my good suit, they’re dripping.”
Her face dropped. “Sorry,” she mumbled, and for a minute I felt bad but then I got cranky at her for putting me on the spot. She always did that, every time I started feeling a little friendly toward her. Plus she knew I hated fresh flowers. You had to find a vase and you had to cut the stalks, they never fit right, then you had to change the water every time you turned around and by then the stems were all slimy. Artificial flowers looked just as good to me, better sometimes, and they lasted. I said I had to rush and hurried out.
Ethel had said to meet them at the Cork ‘n Bottle Pub. It was right in town, up on Market Street. I’d never been there. A lot of folks looked down on you for drinking right in town. The Tip Top was different. It was a little ways out and they served food. Plus the waitresses wore snoods. I always said that was a sign of a good place, if the waitresses wore snoods. The Cork ‘n Bottle was dark inside and there were just men, talking and laughing. I figured they must have been the crew that was laying the new road out in the township. I wished I’d told Ethel and and Chester I’d meet them outside. The bartender came over to me right away before I had a chance to breathe.
“Afternoon,” he said. “Don’t think I’ve seen you in here before. Lookin’ fresh as a daisy.”
I blushed and said “I uh … I uh’m looking for some friends.”
“Well, look no more,” a guy from the back yelled. “I could use a friend. A bosom buddy.” The other guys all snickered and stared.
“I, uh, I think I’ll wait for them outside,” I said to the bartender, but just then Ethel and Chester came in. I was never so glad to see anybody.
Chester said I was looking good and I said they were, too, but they weren’t really. Ethel had on a yellow sleeveless blouse with Scottie dogs on it and pink pedal pushers. The blouse was too tight and she bulged out of it like dough. Chester had on a faded old blue shirt with big perspiration stains shaped like two Liberty Bells, one under each arm.
We ordered a drink and talked about the weather. I asked if they knew Wendell Wilkie’s book One World had sold faster than any book in history, I read it
in Life, and they said, no they hadn’t known that.
Everyone was quiet for a while, then Chester said, “I would of thought it would be the Bible. I think you must have read that wrong, kiddo.”
After we had two drinks each, finally Chester said, “So old Eddie’s moved out to Lyndora, huh?” I said I didn’t know if he’d moved there exactly, he just said he’d be staying for a while with an old friend.
I said it was stupid of me but I’d misplaced his address, did they by any chance have it, but Chester said no, he figured Eddie’d get in touch when he was ready. We had another round of drinks. I tried to be bright and cheery like Cora’d said so I told one of my jokes.
“Why does an Indian wear feathers?” I asked.
They shook their heads. “Beats me,” Chester answered.
“To keep his wig warm,” I said and they nudged each other and laughed.
“Whoops, I mean to keep his wigwam,” I said, and they laughed even harder.
Chester went over and started chatting with the bartender. Before you knew it the bartender gave us a round on the house. I was getting woozy. It was a hot day and I could feel my hairdo going limp.
Once we were alone Ethel patted me on the arm. “These carnies, they got an old saying, ‘I love you, honey, but the season’s over.’ Eddie, he hung around longer than most.”
I guessed that was supposed to be a compliment, but it made me feel worse. Look at how long Chester’d hung around Ethel. What was so wonderful about Ethel with her flabby arms and her pedal pushers? The more we drank, the more down in the dumps I got.
Ethel told me Chester’d said the truth was Eddie had an old girlfriend in Lyndora, someone he’d gone with a long time ago, maybe ten, twelve years. But Eddie’d had itchy feet and the girl got fed up so she married somebody else and Eddie never got over it. Last year her husband was killed in the war and Eddie found out, and called her and one thing led to another.
My chest hurt listening to Ethel but I kept trying to act cheerful. A couple of guys from the back came and sat down with us and started kidding around. I tried to remember my other joke but I couldn’t. We all moved over to the bar and had another round. I was so tipsy I couldn’t get on the barstool and one of the guys lifted me up and plunked me down, but a minute later I lost my balance and slid off. I didn’t hurt myself but I got my suit dirty and started to cry. Chester said it was time to go home.
I couldn’t walk very well so Ethel and Chester went with me, one on each side. It was a hot night and there were a lot of people out so I kept trying to act like everything was fine but the truth was the sidewalk felt like one of those trick floors that move up and down in a fun house.
Suddenly I remembered the other joke. I said “Did you hear one about this guy and girl walking along on a country road and the guy says to the girl ‘Oh, look at those cows rubbing noses. It makes me want to do the same thing,’ and the girl says ‘Go ahead, if you like cows.’”
Ethel and Chester howled like that was the funniest thing anybody had ever said, and I felt good, but then Chester lost his grip on me and I fell down again, only this time I passed out. The last thing I remember before it went black was Genevieve Metzger, wearing a white sundress and white sandals—I never saw such white sandals, there wasn’t a spot on them—looking down at me, saying, “My goodness, it’s Georgia Sayers.”
21
NANCY, 1945
The letter from Bruno came first. When I saw the envelope with my name written on it in big black letters, I got tingly and stared at it for a long time. Somebody taking the time to write my name out always amazed me, as though I had somehow fooled people. I walked into the kitchen, dropped into a chair and opened the envelope.
“How you doing, Nancy? Thanks for writing,” it said. “I had a friend who visited a cousin somewhere near Marysville once. He said it rained and he got poison ivy but it was pretty anyway. I’m stationed in the Pacific. I can’t tell you where, but it’s hot as blazes, and the sky seems bigger than at home. Maybe it’s because this place is so spooky. It’s like little Jap soldiers are watching us all the time. There’s something about those yellow buggers that makes you squirm.
“I’m sure glad to hear you love peanut butter. It’s amazing how so many gals who read Homefront love it. One gal sent me a box full of chocolate-covered peanut butter candy she’d made herself. Boy, that was a real treat.”
I felt irritated. I knew how to make peanut butter candy. Any girl who thought it was a big deal to make peanut butter candy must be pretty jerky.
“‘Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy,’ yeah, that’s a great tune. It’s one of my favorites, too. The Andrews Sisters came through and sang it for the company once, and I got to jitterbug with Maxine. That sure was a day to remember.
“Well, I have to sign off. One of the guys got some soap bubbles and we’re having a party. It sounds dumb, huh, but it keeps us from going nuts, only over here they call it pineapple crazy.”
It was exciting getting the letter, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the other girls. I hadn’t counted on that. I tried to picture them, and they all came out looking like Shirley Metzger with her blond hair and her nose in the air.
I tried to think of a way to stand out. I considered telling Bruno I had performed for a week as Rhonda the Rubber Woman, but I decided he might think being a carnival contortionist was a little weird. I doodled and smoked a cigarette until I got a better idea.
“Dear Bruno,” I wrote. “I was just talking about your letter to my aunt who’s a famous model. Did I mention that before? She’s gorgeous, and she’s teaching me some of her tricks. I might decide to be a model myself someday if I don’t go to commercial school. Anyway, my aunt said wasn’t it something that you had danced with Maxine. She’s always thought I look a little like Maxine myself.”
A week later I got a letter from Duane. I liked it better. Duane didn’t say peep about any other girls. He just said, “Hello there from the European Theater. It sure was great to hear from a girl who likes clarinet music and always wanted to meet a movie usher. Tell you the truth, sometimes it’s a headache cleaning Spearmint off the seats and throwing out the kids who sneak in, but like you say, it’s still show business.”
As I read, I felt bad about sneaking into the movies with Joanie and Itchy—I’d been hanging out with them again since Bobby dumped me and I got rejected trying to be Rhonda. I decided I wouldn’t do it anymore except maybe for Van Johnson.
“Tell you, I’ve seen enough action to last me a lifetime,” Duane went on. “Seems yesterday I was just a kid playing soldier with make-believe machine guns and building bunkers out of piles of hay. I’d count to 50 when I got shot. Boy, life sure changes. When our company took over one town, a kid yelled, ‘Hi yo Silver!’
“I don’t know where he got it, but he sure made me homesick and nobody knows yet when we might get sent back. When I do, maybe I’ll give you a call, okay? Marysville isn’t that far away from Hatfield. Write with more news from the home front, okay?”
I read the letter over and over, especially the part about giving me a call. I pictured Duane sitting in a bunker playing his clarinet, something slow and bluesy, and I tried to make him not look like Bobby. I wrote back saying what fun it would be if Duane got home to Hatfield and called me. What fun was an expression I’d heard Shirley Metzger use. Then I said I was going to send him a surprise, and I hoped he liked peanut butter.
22
JANUARY, 1946
Cora stubbed her cigarette out in a green-tinted glass ashtray that already held four butts, each decorated with a scallop of lipstick, hers a bright red, Georgia’s a pale coral. Cora had moved in with Georgia and Nancy five days before Christmas, one day after Walt had beat up a neighbor who was trying to play “Silent Night” on a saxophone.
“God knows I tried to stop him,” she told Georgia for the umpteenth time. “I said, come on, honey, it’s Christmas, in a couple of days it’ll all be over, we’ll laugh.”
“
Oh, sure it would’ve.”
Georgia shoved pork sausages around in a frying pan. Cora thought back. Walt had joked about it at first, saying Jesus, why bother with a horn, why not just scratch a fingernail on a blackboard all day? Who was the guy taking lessons from, Jack Benny?
Then one night he snapped. He’d had a few and was on a stool, stringing lights on the tree. All blue. Cora’d starting using all blue when Walt was overseas to show how she felt without him, and he’d liked the idea so they stuck with it. The guy next door had taken a breather and Bing Crosby was crooning “White Christmas” on the radio, and then suddenly the blare began again.
Walt jumped off the stool wild-eyed and yelled, “Jesus Christ, I’m gonna give that bastard a silent night.” He stormed over, pounded on the door, grabbed the saxophone and roughed the guy up with it. Cora ran after him yelling no, don’t, Walt, peace on earth, good will toward men and all that, but it didn’t work. He slugged her, too. Somebody called the cops and the next day there was a write-up in the paper calling Walt the Saxophone Scrooge. Meanwhile he’d disappeared. Cora didn’t have any idea where he’d gone.
The smell of the pork fat sizzling made Cora’s mouth water, but she knew by the time Georgia finished with them, the sausages would be black and hard as old turds. Georgia was deathly afraid of pink meat, thought it gave you polio. In the old days Cora would have made a snide remark, but not today. Today there was too much heartache.
She studied the butts. “Lipstick traces,” she thought. “Romantic places.” She sang in a throaty whisper Georgia couldn’t hear above the sizzle of the grease, “These foolish things remind me of you” and tears started up in her eyes. Walt had shown up in Marysville on New Year’s Day. He’d known where she’d be. He apologized, said he missed her and begged her to come back but she’d said she didn’t know. The truth was she missed him, too, something awful, but she had to sort things out.
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