Bachelor Girl

by Kim van Alkemade

  The coroner declared it an accident. The tree that stopped my dad at full speed was no one’s fault, he said, but I knew that wasn’t true. Ruppert could have purchased that motorcycle just by opening his wallet. He didn’t have to force my father into risking his life. It disturbed me to discover he’d been telephoning my mother every year, his voice an unwelcome intrusion on the anniversary of my dad’s death. I’d last seen the man at my father’s funeral. It still pained me to remember how he’d walked beside the casket as a pallbearer. People said it showed respect, but all I could feel was the unfairness of my father’s broken body prone in a box while Colonel Ruppert stood upright and unharmed.

  He’d come to the house afterward, mingling awkwardly with our friends and neighbors from around the town. Most of my classmates had a parent who worked at one of the grand Rhinecliff estates as a carpenter or stonemason, gardener or laundress, maid or cook. The Vanderbilt mansion alone seemed to employ half the town, stories of its opulence passed among us like fairy tales. Having Ruppert in our living room was as unsettling as having a storybook character jump off the page. I glared at him as he took my mother aside to offer his condolences, knowing no apology could ever make up for what he’d taken from me. When my mother gestured in my direction and Ruppert turned to stare, I worried I might have muttered my thoughts aloud.

  A few evenings later, Ruppert sent his private lawyer to help my mother prepare the insurance claim. She was grateful for the man’s assistance, but I didn’t like to see my father’s life reduced to a series of signatures. I’d been nurturing the childish hope that we’d maintain his garage as a sort of shrine until I was old enough to become a mechanic myself, but my mother quashed that dream by putting it all up for sale. It made me sick to my stomach to see my father’s tools haggled over by strangers. By the time my mother announced we’d be moving to Manhattan—more opportunities, she said, and fewer memories—I was numb to the news. Before I knew it, the house had been sold, our belongings were boxed, and I was saying good-bye to my friends of a lifetime. It all happened a decade ago, but I could still conjure the grief I felt as we pulled out of Rhinecliff station, everything I’d ever known receding with the mournful sound of the train’s whistle.

  Chapter 4

  The Colonel was still holed up with Miller Huggins, the Yankees’ new manager, when Miss Grunwald answered the telephone. “I’ll let him know, thank you.” She hung up and called across to me. “Mr. Kramer, you made an appointment for a Mr. Stern? He went to the baseball team’s office on 42nd Street by mistake, but he’s on his way over now.”

  We both looked at the clock and I knew she was thinking the same thing I was: by the time Felix Stern arrived, the Colonel would be at lunch with his brother. When Miller Huggins finally shuffled out of the office, as shabby and hunched over as ever, the Colonel called me in. He asked what happened with that orphanage fellow. When I told him, he scowled. “Everyone knows I take all my meetings here at the brewery.”

  “It was my fault, sir. I wasn’t clear with Mr. Stern when I made the appointment. He’s on his way.”

  “Well, I won’t have time now. George is waiting for me. And you’ll need to reschedule my afternoon appointments, too. Huggins has convinced me to come to the ballpark to see a Boston player he wants me to buy.”

  “I’ll have Mr. Stern come back next week, unless you’d rather wait until you can reach Mr. Huston?”

  “I don’t care a jot about reaching him.” They put on a good show for the press, but I knew how much it annoyed the Colonel to share ownership of the Yankees with his gregarious partner. “As far as I’m concerned, Kramer, the best thing about this war is that it got Tillinghast Huston out of the country. The more time he spends playing soldier in France the better, as long as his money’s still here in New York.”

  “So I’ll reschedule Mr. Stern for next week, then?”

  The Colonel drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Five acres, you said? Listen, Kramer, why don’t you meet with him.”

  “Me?” Though the Colonel often delegated, he’d never entrusted me with that kind of responsibility before.

  “Why not? Take the man to lunch, hear him out, let me know what he’s proposing. You understand these things well enough by now to give me a report.”

  “I appreciate your confidence in me, sir.” I touched the black bow tie around my neck, silently acknowledging his forbearance. “Should I take him to the brewery cafeteria?”

  “No, I don’t want every truck driver and brewmaster overhearing my business.” He looked to me as if awaiting a suggestion.

  “Don’t we have a company account at that German restaurant on 91st Street?”

  “Good thinking, Kramer. Take him there. Order the schnitzel. Jews love veal.” The Colonel put his hand on my shoulder as we walked out of the office. “I’ll be curious to know what this fellow has to say. Why don’t you finish work a bit early and meet me at the ballpark to fill me in?”

  “If you want me to, of course I will. I’m sure I can find my way to the Polo Grounds.”

  “You haven’t been there?” I shook my head. He stopped and faced me. “Don’t tell me you’ve never seen my boys play, Kramer.”

  “I haven’t had the chance to take in a game.” The truth was, it seemed to me like a waste of a Saturday to spend hours in crowded stands watching distant men run in circles.

  “You’ll come and sit with me in the owner’s box. Here.” He extracted one of his business cards from an inside pocket. “Just show them this at the gate.”

  “Thank you, Colonel.”

  “You don’t have a boater, do you?”

  “No, only a bowler.”

  He reached for the business card he’d just given me, took the pen from my hand, and jotted something on the back. “You’ll need one come summer. Here’s my haberdasher. Have him put one on my account.”

  I tucked the card into my shirt pocket next to the ballet tickets. “Thank you, sir, that’s generous of you.”

  “You’ll enjoy baseball, Kramer. I didn’t expect to like it so much when I bought the team, but it’s turned out to be more fun than owning a stable. The games last a lot longer than a horse race.”

  “Yes, sir.” I returned to my desk without further comment, afraid of what he might do if I admitted to never having been to the track at Belmont.

  When the receptionist called to say that Mr. Stern had arrived, I rode the elevator down to meet him. I found Felix Stern dabbing his brow with a handkerchief as he paced, hat in hand. There was a shadow of a beard on his narrow face and his suit hung on him loosely, as if he had raided his father’s closet. He was younger than I expected, though, and better-looking. “Mr. Stern? I’m Albert Kramer, Colonel Ruppert’s personal secretary.”

  He put away the handkerchief to shake my hand. His fingers were so long their tips brushed the inside of my wrist. “Hello, Mr. Kramer. Did you hear I went to the Yankees’ office by mistake? Once they told me, I got here quick as I could.”

  “I apologize. I should have made that clear.”

  “So when can I see Colonel Ruppert?”

  “I’m afraid he’s at lunch now and unavailable for the rest of the day.”

  Felix Stern’s face fell. He slapped his forehead with what looked like real force. “I’m so stupid.”

  I’d heard that Jews were an emotional race, but his sudden shift in mood alarmed me. “Please, don’t say that. It confuses many of his business associates. He asked me to meet with you instead, if that’s acceptable.”

  He looked at me, his eyes fringed with lashes so black I thought for a second he was using mascara. The idea made me realize I’d never met a Jewish pansy; my friend Paul always joked they were as rare as virgin brides. “Thanks, Mr. Kramer. I’d appreciate the opportunity to explain the situation to you. Our trustees meet on Sunday afternoons, and I was hoping to have something to report.”

  “Then it’s settled. How about we discuss it over lunch?”

  He agre
ed and I led the way down the block to the German restaurant. When war had been declared, the owners of the Kaiserhof had covered their portrait of Wilhelm with an American flag and renamed their restaurant the Edelweiss Café, but nothing else about the place had changed. Walking in, we were enveloped by the smoky smell of sausage and cigars. The lighting was dim and the booths had backs so tall each table seemed tucked into its own little room. I bought some cigarettes from the coat check girl. Opening the pack, I held one out to Felix, but he declined. “My mother says they’re filthy. Sorry, I don’t mind if you do, of course.”

  I put them in my pocket. “I’ll smoke one later.”

  When the waiter came for our order, I asked for the schnitzel and salad with a glass of Riesling. I would have preferred a chopped steak but I was following the Colonel’s suggestion, thinking Felix would copy my order.

  “Just coffee for me,” he said.

  “You’re not eating? But the veal here is excellent.”

  The waiter hesitated until Felix assured him coffee was all he wanted. “I couldn’t deprive you of your lunch hour, Mr. Kramer, but I hardly eat on Fridays.”

  “Is that because of your religion?” Growing up, I hadn’t learned much about Jews. They didn’t live in my family’s part of Pittsburgh, they weren’t allowed at the boarding school my uncle sent me to, and if there were any at Princeton I’d never spotted one. But in New York City every third person you bumped into was Jewish, and I was catching on. I knew their Sabbath was Saturday but that it started on Friday. For all I knew, it began with lunch instead of supper.

  Felix laughed. It was good to see his face relax. “In a way. My mother likes to stuff me to bursting at Shabbat dinner. I have to starve myself all day so I don’t disappoint her.”

  The waiter returned with my wine and his coffee. “So, tell me about this property of yours.”

  “Okay.” He leaned across the table, his intensity of purpose palpable. “Everyone in the city knows that since Colonel Ruppert acquired the Yankees he’s been on the hunt for a ballpark of his own. He can’t keep leasing from the Giants forever, can he? I’ve been up to the Polo Grounds. The property we have to offer is better situated and more accessible. We’ve owned it free and clear since the 1880s with no liens or entanglements. It’s five acres with no cross street.”

  “I did mention that to the Colonel this morning. He said his engineers preferred ten.”

  “Good luck finding ten acres in the city. No, there’s no better site for a ballpark in Manhattan than the Orphaned Hebrews Home.”

  My plate arrived, the breading on the veal still sizzling. “What about the neighborhood?”

  “When the Home was built it was practically countryside, but now there’s all kinds of people. Jews have moved up from the Lower East Side and Negroes are coming down from Sugar Hill, but the streets are pretty quiet. The Harlem nightclubs are all the way over on Seventh Avenue. For a sporting venue, it’s an ideal location.”

  I remembered the Colonel joking they’d run out of orphans. “You’re closing the orphanage, then?”

  “No, not at all. We’ve got over a thousand children under our care. We’re looking to rebuild out in the countryside. We have an entire plan drawn up for cottage homes, gardens, and playgrounds. We’ve already purchased land in Westchester and we’re about to start a fund-raising campaign. As soon as we build there and relocate the children, the Manhattan property could be the Colonel’s. If we had a contract, or even an option, it would give us the certainty to move ahead with construction.”

  I took a bite of the schnitzel, the veal buttery on my tongue. “And how exactly are you connected with the orphanage?”

  “My father’s a trustee, but I took over his seat when he became too ill to attend meetings. Now I’m leading the campaign for relocation.”

  “So, you haven’t even begun to build? What’s your time line for this?” The Colonel didn’t care to deal with complications, and I knew he liked to move fast. I’d just started working for him when he bought the office building on 42nd Street where Felix had mistakenly gone. Because the owners had managed it badly and fallen behind on their taxes, the Colonel was able to swoop in and take title for a fraction of its worth. He’d invested in the necessary improvements and installed new tenants, including the Yankees’ front office. He had the building turning a profit within a year. This business with fund-raisers and options didn’t sound like his style at all.

  “The time line depends on how soon we get things started. Look, why don’t you come see the orphanage for yourself, before you present my proposal to Colonel Ruppert? Then you’ll be completely informed.”

  For a man with such a thin face, his lips were surprisingly full and supple. I held his gaze for a long moment, but the look he gave me in return was so guileless I couldn’t tell if he understood my meaning. “Perhaps that would be a good idea,” I said. “Colonel Ruppert’s very busy right now.”

  “I imagine Prohibition isn’t a pleasant prospect for a brewer.”

  “It’s ridiculous, amending the Constitution over alcohol,” I said, raising my glass. “It’s one thing for my mother in Pennsylvania to advocate temperance, but I can’t see how it would ever work in this city. Anyway, I doubt enough states will ratify the amendment. New York will never vote for it, that’s for sure.”

  The waiter came by to warm up his coffee and clear my plate. “How long have you been living in the city?” Felix asked, lifting the cup to his mouth.

  “Just over a year, but I used to come up from Princeton while I was in college. I started working for the Colonel right after I graduated. You’re born and bred I assume?”

  “My people came over from Bavaria in the 1840s, same as Ruppert’s family. We all considered ourselves Germans then, but over here we got sorted out by religion. His people are Catholic, aren’t they?” I nodded. “How about you?”

  “My mother’s Episcopalian, but I don’t practice anything myself.”

  “So, you’ll come?” Felix seemed to be holding his breath. There was something attractive about his desperation.

  “To see this orphanage of yours? I will.”

  He exhaled as a smile creased the corners of his eyes. “How about Saturday?”

  “As in, tomorrow?”

  “Like I said, the trustees meet on Sunday and I’d like to tell them I’ve made some kind of progress. In the afternoon, though. I go to synagogue with my parents in the morning.”

  I agreed, supposing it would be all right with the Colonel. I’d ask him about it at the ballpark and cancel if he disapproved. The waiter saw we were finished and set down the check. Felix reached for it and I took the opportunity to place my hand on top of his. “Let me get it. I’ll charge it to the Colonel. You’re representing a charity, after all, and he’s running a business.”

  Out on the sidewalk we shook hands and went our separate ways. Though I was fairly certain Felix Stern’s interest in me was merely professional, I found myself stepping more lightly at the prospect of seeing him again. I busied myself rescheduling the Colonel’s other appointments and responding to the afternoon mail. When the cuckoo on the wall chirped four o’clock, I bid Miss Grunwald a good weekend and headed out for the Polo Grounds.

  Chapter 5

  I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep until my mother woke me. “I made you some coffee,” she said, setting the cup on the nightstand. I rolled onto my shoulder, eyes bleary. “Here, it’ll revive you. I let you rest as long as I could, but you have to get ready now.”

  I took a tentative sip. It was hot. “Ready for what?”

  “We’re going to the Polo Grounds as soon as Rex gets home from school. Jake’s sending over his limousine. He invited us to sit with him in the owner’s box at the Yankees game this afternoon.”

  I spit my mouthful of coffee back into the cup. “This morning you were mad at me for walking around the block. Now you want to drag me out to a baseball game?”

  She patted my arm. “I told you, we’
re going in the limousine, you’ll only need to walk as far as your seat. I suppose the owner’s box must be close to the field, don’t you think? And it’s such a nice day, you said so yourself.”

  “But, Mom, I don’t understand. When did all this happen?”

  “I called him back while you were resting.”

  “No, I mean, going to the baseball game. You said he calls you once a year on the day Daddy died. How did that turn into an afternoon at the ballpark?”

  “Well, it was you.” She hadn’t looked this happy since we decorated the Christmas tree. “It made an impression on him, talking to you this morning. I may have said something about you being ready to get out more. The next thing I knew, it was all arranged.”

  I tried again to swallow some coffee, hoping it would drive the cobwebs from my brain. “I don’t see why I have to come along. Colonel Ruppert’s just about the last man on earth I’d want to see today. Besides, Rex is the one who’s crazy about baseball.” My brother had been devouring the sports pages ever since he learned to read; he was fifteen now and claimed to know more about the game than Damon Runyon. “You two go ahead if you want. I’m not up for it.”

  Her tone became serious. “Listen to me, Helen. This is a chance we can’t afford to pass up.”

  “A chance at what, Mom?” I noticed now that she’d changed into a brocade skirt and matching jacket. Her waist was corseted, and she’d draped her prized possession, a stole of mink pelts, around her shoulders. “What are you so dressed up for?”

  She stroked one of the minks. “It’s the best thing I have.” I rolled my eyes at her choice of evening clothes for a ballgame. “You don’t know these people like I do, Helen. Everything they own is of the highest quality. Besides, I’m not thinking of myself. It’s you and Rex who still have a future. Now, get yourself up and dressed. You’re coming with us.”