“I wish I could, darling, I really do, but I have a business meeting in the morning. If I don’t get some sleep I’ll be dead on my feet.”
“Who does business on Sunday morning? It’s uncivilized.”
“It’s with a Jewish fellow. I guess they don’t care about Sundays.”
“Is he handsome at least?” Jack winked at Paul, then poked me in the ribs. “He must be if you’re willing to ditch us so early.”
“It wouldn’t matter if he were,” Paul said. “Everyone knows Jews don’t go for pansies.”
“Stop it, both of you.” I exchanged kisses with Jack. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”
“Say, you are coming to my opening night tomorrow, aren’t you?” Paul asked me. “You’ve still got those tickets? You can bring this soldier boy of yours.”
“He shipped out this morning, remember? Actually, I invited a girl.”
Paul tilted his chair back and looked at me, amused. “Now, that you’ll have to explain.” I started telling him about Helen when he kicked me under the table. “Look, there he is.”
I’d forgotten about his mysterious benefactor. I turned and saw a rather ordinary man in exquisite clothes. He stood at the bar, a drink in one hand and his hat in the other, gazing at Paul. You could have powered a streetcar on the electricity in the look that passed between them.
“Don’t worry about the bill, I’ll settle up with Toni.” Paul weaved his way through the tables until he reached the bar. His benefactor set down his drink and placed a hand on Paul’s lovely cheek as they conferred, heads together. With a flash of diamond cuff links, he produced a wallet and motioned to Toni. From the glimpse I got at the notes he handed over, the amount was more than sufficient to cover our table as well as Paul’s outstanding tab. I stretched my neck to watch them leave.
I got up myself then and realized I shouldn’t have had that last drink. I needed the waiter to steer me to the door, where the cool air revived me a bit. I wobbled home through the dark streets of Greenwich Village, placing one foot carefully in front of the other. My legs managed to find my house with no help from my muddled brain. After some fumbling with the keys, I hauled myself upstairs. It was worse lying down. The ceiling above my bed whirled like a carousel and I knew there was no cure but to sleep it off. Setting my alarm clock, I cursed myself for agreeing to meet Felix Stern so early on a Sunday.
Chapter 11
“It’s a shame the stores are closed on Sunday.” My mother surveyed the sad contents of my closet. “You could’ve gotten a new dress for the ballet.”
The dozen hangers offered a depressing display. Everything looked out-of-date, from the skirts and shirtwaists I’d worn since high school to the dresses I’d thrown on to go to acting class. Truth be told, I’d gotten so used to cadging dresses from the wardrobe mistress at the Olde Playhouse that the only thing I’d purchased in ages was the yellow linen, but I’d worn that twice in two days now. Thinking back to my dates with Harrison, I realized that never once had I been dressed in my own clothes. No wonder I owned nothing suitable for a night out with Albert Kramer. I took my prettiest shirtwaist from the closet, with embroidery down the front and a lace collar. “I’ll just iron this.”
“No, Helen, that won’t do. Doesn’t Mr. Rabinowitz keep the back door of his tailor shop open on Sundays? I saw a beautiful blue dress in his window yesterday, as nice as anything you could get at Gimbels.”
I objected to spending money on myself when I owed her so much, but she reminded me of my promise to begin paying her back after I started working again. “Besides, you can’t wear rags to go out with the secretary of a millionaire.”
I didn’t think much of Ruppert’s millions found their way into Albert’s pockets, but I took her point. If there was one thing I’d learned in drama school, it was the importance of dressing the part.
An hour later, as I turned this way and that to catch my reflection in the mirror on the back of my closet door, I had to admit my mother had been right. The dress, a modern silhouette of periwinkle crepe de chine trimmed in velvet, looked like something Gordon Conway might have drawn. “I could be on the stage in this.”
My mother frowned. “You know you’re not strong enough for that yet.”
“Well, I’ve got to do something, and acting is all I know.” I thought of Richard’s offer to work at the Olde Playhouse and regretted standing him up the day before—that business with Albert and the orphanage had driven it right out of my mind. I decided I’d stop by and apologize after the ballet.
Leaning over the bathroom sink to apply my mascara, I had the same flicker of anticipation I’d felt before my dates with Harrison—a flicker that was quickly extinguished by a cold cramp in my gut as my optimism was swamped by another round of recrimination. I was no better than the women in the asylum out on Wards Island, I thought, sterilized for being judged insane. Except I wasn’t crazy, just stupid. It made me wonder what those women had done to deserve their fate. Perhaps they’d been no worse than I was: headstrong and gullible, pregnant and unmarried, willing to break the law to save themselves. Plenty of mothers would have kicked their daughters to the curb for less. I shuddered to think what might have become of me under different circumstances.
I gave my reflection a hard stare. Enough, I told myself. So you can’t have children. Neither can lots of women, they just don’t know it until they try. Besides, there were thousands of Bachelor Girls all over New York enjoying their careers and their freedom, and plenty of men like Harrison who didn’t care about marriage. I wondered if Albert Kramer might be one of those men. He worked for one of the most famous bachelors in the city. Rex, who’d been reading up on the Yankees, had shown me an article in which Ruppert was quoted as saying a man only needed a wife if he didn’t have a butler, a cook, or a laundress—and he had all three. Perhaps the Colonel preferred his personal secretary to be similarly unencumbered. Even if he disapproved of marriage, though, he couldn’t very well demand chastity from his employees. Sex with Albert would be nothing like it had been with Harrison, I mused, if for no other reason than he was half Harrison’s weight. “Stop it,” I said aloud. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Are you talking to me, Helen?” my mother called from the living room.
“No, Mom, I’m not.”
The buzzer rang just as I was pinning on my hat, causing me to poke my finger. Sucking away the drop of blood, I hurried to the elevator. Clarence wasn’t in the lobby to open the door, so Albert was stuck outside. He greeted me with a friendly handshake when I came out. “You look nice, Helen. I like that dress.” He was smartly attired, too, in a double-breasted jacket and wide-cut trousers, but I wasn’t sure how to compliment a man on his outfit. “The theater’s just on the other side of Times Square. We could catch a streetcar if you’re not up for the walk.”
“No, a walk will do me good,” I said. We made a fashionable couple, I thought, as we strolled up the block, streetlights and lit windows easing the evening darkness. I stumbled among the hectic crowds on Broadway and Albert offered me his arm. I accepted, grateful for the steadiness he provided. We found we shared a talent for observation and began pointing out to each other little sights along the way: a lady’s ridiculous hat, a traffic cop with theatrical gestures, a dachshund wearing a jeweled collar. When the conversation flagged, I asked about his visit to the orphanage’s new location that morning.
“It was miserable. I woke up with another hangover. I hope you won’t think I’m a lush, Helen, but I don’t usually work on the weekend and my friends were expecting me.” He went on to tell me about his trip to Westchester, where he’d been disappointed to find nothing more than an overgrown field.
“But Mr. Stern made it sound as if they were ready to break ground.”
Albert pulled me aside to let a businessman stride by. “Hardly. I stood there while he described it to me, as if painting a picture with words were the same thing as having an architect’s prospectus. When I told him I had
trouble envisioning it, he said he should have shown me the plans first. He apologized for dragging me out there for nothing, but I’m glad I went.”
“Why’s that?” Though we were stopped at a crosswalk, he let me keep hold of his arm.
“So I can tell the Colonel their relocation plans are more pipe dream than reality.”
“He should know the facts before he commits to a donation.”
“A donation? Oh, yes. I did agree to meet Mr. Stern one more time, to see the plans, but I imagine that will be the end of it.”
We arrived at the theater before I realized how far we’d walked. The doors were open and people were being seated, but there was enough time before the curtain that I could excuse myself to visit the ladies’ room without inconveniencing him. Touching up my hair in front of the mirror, I wondered when I’d ever felt so comfortable with a man.
I’d expected the ballet to be lush and romantic, but the music was quite modern and the dancers more athletic than ethereal. I was shocked when they first leaped onto the stage until I realized their beige tights blended with their skin. Albert leaned over to whisper that his friend Paul was the dancer at center stage, impressively lifting a ballerina over his head. After the finale, Albert brought me backstage where we found his friend in a communal dressing room shared by all the male dancers. A quick peek revealed the men sweaty and undressed. I covered my eyes and stepped back into the hallway as Paul, wrapped in a dressing gown, came out to greet us.
“I thought Albert had invented you.” Instead of taking my hand, Paul kissed both of my cheeks like a Frenchman. Up close his good looks were stunning, even with the greasy stage makeup smeared across his face. “So this is the princess to our prince.”
I turned to Albert, confused. “It’s a joke. He calls me Prince Albert, like the tobacco. You were magnificent, Paul, really.”
“Yes, it was wonderful.” I liked knowing that Albert had already mentioned me to his friend.
“So what are you kids up to next?”
We looked at each other and shrugged. “I guess we’ll stop off for a drink, if you’d like, Helen. How about you? Are you going out afterward?”
“The dancers are all going out together, but I’m sure I’ll end up at Antonio’s eventually.” Paul glanced at me and raised an eyebrow.
“I don’t plan on monopolizing his night, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
“Then I guess I’ll see you later on?” Paul directed his question at Albert.
“No promises. I’ve had a hell of a weekend.”
“I’m glad you came, both of you.” He kissed my cheeks again and then repeated the gesture with Albert. I thought it was very European.
We made our way through the bedlam backstage to emerge onto the street. “There is someplace I’d like to go, Albert, if you wouldn’t mind.” I told him how I’d missed my meeting with Richard Martin because of our visit to the orphanage.
“Lead on.” I took him up a few short streets and down two long blocks to the Olde Playhouse, where a handful of people were lingering under the marquee. Richard spotted us entering the lobby and came out from behind the ticket window.
“Helen Winthrope, it’s like a miracle the way you appear. Come here, I need to speak with you.” I barely had time to introduce Albert before Richard hustled us into his cramped office. He dropped into the only chair, leaving me and Albert shoulder to shoulder in the doorway. “I was hoping to ease you into this, but I’m in a crisis, Helen. I don’t know what to do.” His glasses swung from the chain around his neck as he leaned forward to put his head in his hands.
Alarmed, I knelt in front of him. “Richard, what is it?”
Haltingly, he explained he’d been suffering from a nervous disposition for years. He’d ignored his symptoms, always too busy to take time for his health, but that morning he was so overwhelmed with palpitations he’d gone to the hospital. The doctor had put it bluntly: if he didn’t immediately arrange for a convalescence, free from the stress of the Playhouse, his heart would certainly give out. “I have a friend who’s invited me to stay with him in Montauk. The doctor said the recuperative powers of the ocean were just what I needed.” Now that the current show had ended its run, he explained, Harrison would be moving to evening rehearsals, leaving the theater dark for a fortnight until the new play opened. “If you could step in for me during the day, Helen, just for a couple of weeks while I rest, I’m sure I’d be good as new by opening night. Perhaps you could bring some order to this chaos, while you’re here.”
I looked around the office. Posters from past performances were peeling from the walls, haphazard heaps of paper obscured the surface of the desk, and the floor was piled with teetering stacks of ledgers that seemed to go back decades. I couldn’t imagine how I’d begin to sort out the mess, but I wasn’t about to pass up a chance to get back to the world of the theater. “I’ll step in, Richard, don’t worry.”
He lifted his head. “Would you really, Helen? I’m not asking too much of you, am I?”
“I’m not strong enough for the stage yet, but it looks like I’d be spending most of my time sitting right here, wouldn’t I? It’s not exactly strenuous.”
“To be honest, I’ve been letting things go for a while now. Perhaps it isn’t as bad as it seems?” I could hear the lie in his voice and assumed the state of the Playhouse was even worse than Richard was willing to admit.
“I’ll get you a taxi if you’d like, Mr. Martin,” Albert said. I looked up at him with gratitude.
Confessing his predicament had apparently sapped Richard of his last reserves of strength. He leaned heavily on the desk as he stood and stuffed a few things into a satchel that had been tucked below his chair. “I can’t express my appreciation, Helen. Here are the keys to the office and the lobby. The custodian will lock the stage doors. The rest of it”—he waved a hand around the office—“you’ll get the hang of in no time.” I waited with him under the marquee, the lights exaggerating the sallow tone of his skin. “You may have saved my life, Helen. I’m sure a couple of weeks by the ocean will do me wonders.” He bid me a weak good-bye before getting into the taxi Albert had hailed.
I looked at the keys Richard had pressed into my hand. “What have I gotten myself into?”
“Come on.” Albert led me back into the Playhouse. “I’ll help you close up.”
We wandered through the theater, checking stalls in the restrooms and switching off lights. It was half an hour until the last of the patrons had finally cleared the lobby and we locked the doors. Under the dark marquee, I thanked Albert again for his assistance. “I wish you could help me sort that mess in Richard’s office.”
“You’re better off without me, Helen. I really wouldn’t know what I was doing.”
“But you must have taken some business courses?”
“Nothing so practical as that, I’m afraid.”
I offered to get myself home—he’d already spent more time with me than he’d been planning to—but he refused to hear of it. Together we traversed Times Square, my hand contentedly clutching Albert’s arm. I’d known I was lonely, but until that moment, I hadn’t realized how much room there was in my life for a friend.
Chapter 12
How strange it was to walk through Times Square with a woman on my arm. I noticed the lingering looks as pansies eyed men on the crowded sidewalk, their parade of passion an invisible undercurrent among the bustling Broadway crowds, but with Helen’s little hand tucked into my elbow I was excluded from their glances. I felt like one of those foreign agents the papers kept warning us about as the queer world revealed its secrets all around me.
It had been like that at the ballet. Instead of furtively meeting a stranger and hoping no one discerned our true intentions, I’d walked into the lobby with Helen beside me and my chin held high. So what if people assumed we were on a date? Their eyes swept over us unperturbed, our appearance neatly fitting their pattern of what a couple should be. I couldn’t help but envy the
normal men who walked so nonchalantly through the city. How easy life was for them.
Easy, but narrow. After leaving Helen at her door, I crossed Times Square on my own, testing the difference. The sidewalks were as packed as when Houdini, in a straitjacket, had dangled himself over 42nd Street from a crane. Pushing through the crowd, I gave a rather rough man a very long look. Checking back over my shoulder, I was gratified to find him gazing after me. Our eyes met, and there it was: that spark of desire lighting me up from the inside out. If I hadn’t been planning to meet up with Paul at Antonio’s, I might have stopped to let him catch up with me. For now, though, the recognition had been enough to remind me of my true tribe.
As it happened, by the time I got down to Washington Square, I’d decided a night of abstinence would do me good—exactly what the prohibitionists had in mind, though what a dull existence they wanted to force us into. Up in my room, I poured myself a whiskey just to spite them but went to bed without finishing it. I sought King’s lingering scent, but my nostrils were met with the sharp tang of bleach. I remembered, then, that the landlady always laundered the linens on Sunday. Did his bunk on the ship even have sheets? I wondered. I fell asleep imagining King stretched out on a blanket tossed over webbed hemp.
Monday morning, I got to the brewery early for a change. As I prepared my notes about the orphanage and sorted through the Colonel’s mail and messages, I jotted a reminder to myself to call Helen to ask how she was managing at the Playhouse. Miss Grunwald arrived, then the Colonel, punctual to a fault. For the first time since I’d become his personal secretary, he said he wanted to see me right away and that Miss Grunwald should come in with the brewery business after we had spoken. She took the demotion hard, I could see, and I felt a little sorry for her. Supposing the Colonel was simply anxious to hear what I’d learned about the orphanage, I quickly gathered up my notes.
Bachelor Girl Page 10