I managed to get us out of our coats. They fell to the floor, crumpled lumps of wool. I maneuvered Albert to the couch where we dropped, me supine, he clutching at me as if I were a lifebuoy on a storm-tossed sea. “What’s happened, Albert? Are you hurt? Should I call for an ambulance?”
“No.” His mouth was pressed against my neck. The movement of his lips as he formed the word felt like a kiss.
I massaged the back of his head with my fingers. “I knew something was wrong, as soon as I saw that headline this morning.”
“Oh God, Helen, it’s all gone to hell.” He burrowed deeper into me, the weight of his body full on mine. My urge to comfort him was overwhelming. I put my hand beneath his chin and raised his face. Bending my neck, I brought my mouth to his. As first, he seemed not to notice that our lips touched. Then his mouth opened so wide I feared he’d choke me with his thrust tongue.
He broke away suddenly, leaving my jaw agape. His voice cracked. “If only I could be with you, Helen.”
This was it, the declaration of his intentions. Why it was so tortured I didn’t know, but I understood that only the fabric of our clothes held us back from a complete union of body and soul. If I hesitated a minute longer, it would be too late. I’d never again find the courage to tell him the truth.
“Before you make me any promises, I need to tell you something. I can’t get pregnant. I did, once, with Harrison, but I had—I tried to fix it, and it all went wrong. I could never give you children, Albert. I’ve been so afraid to tell you. I didn’t think you could love me, knowing I was damaged goods.”
He focused his surprised eyes on me, as if he hadn’t noticed until that moment I was even there. “I could never love you any less.” He stroked my face. “My darling Helen. We can be damaged together.”
It wasn’t an answer I’d ever imagined. “How are you damaged, Albert?”
“Haven’t you guessed by now?”
I struggled to sit up, my skirt tangled in his legs. “Guessed what? Is it something to do with your heart?”
Tears fell from his eyes like water over the edge of a cliff. “Maybe it is in my heart. I don’t know where it is, or how to change it. It’s who I am, I don’t know why.”
“You’ve got to believe I’d love you no matter what was wrong with you, Albert. Unless it’s me you can’t love?”
He took my hands in both of his own. “It’s nothing to do with you, Helen. You’re the finest woman I’ve ever known. I can’t be with you because I’m an invert. Do you know what that means? Have you read Havelock Ellis?”
“The eugenicist?” I was unable to fathom what he was getting at. Was he worried about passing on his weak heart? But I’d just told him I couldn’t have children. Whatever damage he carried, no child would inherit it through me.
“That, too.” He let his head fall against the back of the couch as if the weight of it threatened to snap his skull from his spine. “He studies the psychology of sex. He devoted an entire volume to the congenital abnormality of sexual inversion.”
“Inversion?”
Drained now of emotion, he spoke like an automaton. “I’m a pansy, Helen. Don’t you know what that is?”
A pansy, sure, I’d heard the word. I was an actress, wasn’t I? That’s what people called the actors who wore makeup even when they weren’t onstage, or the costume designers who were always accompanied by a young apprentice. They were pansies, fairies, queers. But Albert was none of these things. “Why would you say that, Albert? You aren’t like that at all.”
“I may not seem like it to you, but you have to believe me, Helen. I can never love you the way a man like Harrison could love you.”
“But he never even pretended to love me, Albert. All he wanted from me was sex.”
“That’s exactly what I could never give you.”
Was that the damage he was so afraid to confess? But I couldn’t care less about a few minutes of slippery grunting. Albert might as well have told me we couldn’t be together because he’d been injured in the war, a piece of shrapnel in the groin that prevented him from completing the act of intercourse. What woman who truly loved a man would jilt him for a wound he never asked for? Not me.
I placed my cheek against his cheek and spoke softly into his ear. “I don’t care what you are, Albert. You know I love you. How we are with each other, that’s all I want. And to hold you, like this, whenever you need me to. The rest of it doesn’t matter to me.”
We kissed then, softly, my lips a balm to his pain. “I don’t deserve you, Helen.”
“Don’t say that, darling.” He didn’t seem to understand that loving him required no sacrifice. I didn’t care about what he couldn’t give me, just as he didn’t want what I couldn’t give him. There was more to life than children and sex. So much more. And we could have it, together.
I held him close, knowing he was the prize I was lucky to win. “Let’s just love each other, Albert, exactly as we are.”
1923
Chapter 28
“The set looks amazing, darling.” Albert put his arm across my shoulders and pulled me in for a quick kiss. “I’m so proud of what you’ve accomplished.”
“Let’s wait until the reviews come in to count my accomplishments.” I hooked my thumb in his belt loop. “It does look good, though, doesn’t it?”
“It’s not just good, Helen. It’s remarkable.”
He was right, the set was remarkable. The entire stage was taken up with a cutaway of a train car, the inside lit up like a diorama. On one side of the coupling was the stateroom, where the sick girl would lie prostrate, as if on an altar. On the other side of the coupling was the parlor car, where men would be seated in plush seats, the doctor flanked by his two acquaintances. There was space between the seats for the girl’s father to confront the doctor with arrogance and hatred in act one, begrudging necessity in act two, and genuine gratitude at the end of act three. I felt certain the play would be a critical success—maybe even a hit—but I didn’t want to jinx it by saying so out loud.
Albert had promised to be my date for the invited dress tonight as well as the opening tomorrow. “You’re sure you don’t mind sitting through it twice?”
“Of course not. I was with you when you first got the idea for this play, wasn’t I? Nothing could keep me from seeing it performed. It’s too bad Rex is going to miss it, though.”
My brother wasn’t all that interested in my career, but if he’d been in town I supposed he’d have attended. As assistant to the Yankees’ traveling secretary, Rex had gone down to Louisiana ahead of the players to organize their accommodations for spring training. It had been his dream come true when he got hired by the Yankees right after high school. Rex thought it was because he knew so much about baseball, but I suspected Albert had pulled some strings to get him the job, another one of his many favors to me.
Albert tightened his arm around me. I leaned into him, expecting another kiss, but he was only checking his wristwatch. “Lunch hour’s over, I’m afraid. I’ve got to go. The Colonel’s doing another walkthrough of the stadium this afternoon and he wants me along to take notes.”
“He must be thrilled to be getting so close to completion.”
“He’s thrilled, but the engineers aren’t. Every time the Colonel walks through, he issues more change orders. If Yankee Stadium isn’t ready for opening day, it’ll be his own fault. See you tonight, Helen.”
I watched Albert disappear into the lobby, then turned back to the stage where the electricians were testing the lights ahead of our final rehearsal. My mind went back to last summer in Albert’s apartment when inspiration had struck. It had become our habit to spend Sundays together and I’d come to the brownstone that morning with a box of rolls fresh from the bakery and Pip on his leash, letting myself in with the set of keys that had become my own. Albert, still in his pajamas, brewed coffee and fried some eggs, Pip dancing on his hind legs for a taste. After breakfast we settled ourselves on the couch, prepared to let
the day slide deliciously by. Later on, we’d go for a walk or to a museum, but for now we listened to the phonograph as we lazily sifted through the newspapers.
“I can’t read another word about Russian Bolsheviks or Italian socialists,” I said, tossing the pages of the paper to the floor. “What else is happening in the world?”
“Did you see this article about the race riots in Macon?” He pointed it out to me and I ran my eyes down the column, shaking my head when I reached the sentences about innocent Negro boys being beaten and shot.
“At least the police are doing their job for once and rescuing people from the mob.” I handed the page back to Albert. “Isn’t there something nice to think about?”
He passed me the advertisements for the upcoming August sales. “We should go shopping tomorrow, Helen. Look, there’s an Alaska seal coat with a skunk collar and cuffs on sale for three hundred dollars. That would look wonderful on you. I’ll ask the Colonel about it when he gets back from the Yacht Club regatta.”
“You don’t think it’s too much, asking him to buy me a fur?”
“I’ll remind him how much cheaper they are out of season. Don’t fret, Helen. He’s got Babe Ruth under contract for fifty-two thousand dollars a year. I’m sure he can spare a couple hundred on a coat.”
“He does like me to dress up for the dog show.” I went over to the phonograph, swapping a record by Bessie Smith for a new orchestration of the Charleston. On my way back to the couch, I picked up an old issue of The Crisis and leafed through its pages. I skipped the gruesome accounts of lynchings, looking instead for poetry and fiction. I found myself engrossed in a short story about a black doctor traveling by train to meet his fiancée. During the journey, a white girl on the train falls ill and he is prevailed upon to treat her. But when her parents express their prejudice against his race, he withholds his lifesaving ministrations until they publicly apologize. The story was written with such verve, the scenes rendered so theatrically, it was as if a play were being staged in my mind. My heart was beating fast as I came to the dramatic conclusion. “Albert, have you read this story?”
If he had he didn’t remember it, so I read it to him aloud, standing up to act out the parts. By the time I got to the triumphant final lines, Albert, too, was on his feet. I felt a hot flush in my cheeks as I looked at him. “This would make an extraordinary play, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely, Helen. It’s as dramatic as anything O’Neill has staged. Do you think he’d be interested?”
“Don’t talk to me about O’Neill.” I still resented him for refusing my offer to bring Beyond the Horizon to the Olde Playhouse. “Anyway, he doesn’t do adaptations. I’m thinking of producing it myself.”
Though I hadn’t had a hit yet, I’d managed to build Pipsqueak Productions into a modest success. I’d continued putting on a summer Shakespeare series with an out-of-town troupe, and I’d backed a number of comedies that had filled enough seats to offset the costs of staging them. I plowed nearly every cent I made back into the company, taking just enough for my daily expenses. Only my account at Macy’s kept me from walking around Manhattan in rags. I often envied Bernice Johnson her steady salary as manager, a job she performed to perfection. She’d turned the Olde Playhouse into a self-sustaining operation, finding savings in every nook and cranny. It made my job so much easier. Once I’d budgeted a fixed payment for the theater, I was free to spend the rest on the productions. Our bank account at the moment was fairly flush, but was it enough to commission an original play?
I paced Albert’s living room, thinking out loud. I’d have to negotiate the rights from the story’s author and hire a playwright. Then I’d need to get the actors under contract and the set built—I could see in my mind’s eye the cutaway train car and knew it would be expensive. Not to mention finding a director willing to take on a modern play about the race question with an integrated cast.
“What about Joseph Harrison?” Albert said. “He’s got the right passion for a project of this sort. If it’s not too painful for you to work with him, that is.”
Albert had never alluded to my affair with Harrison before. Any other boyfriend would have been too jealous to suggest I work with a former lover. But that was the beauty of my relationship with Albert. Our love was too pure for possessiveness and jealousy. “I’m sure I can handle Harrison. If I could get him on board, we might have as big a sensation as O’Neill had last year with The Emperor Jones.” I grabbed his hands. “Can you imagine if I could persuade Charles Gilpin to play the doctor?”
“I’m sure you could do anything you set your mind to, Helen,” Albert said, placing a series of sweet kisses across my knuckles.
And I had done it, all of it, just as I’d imagined. But putting on this play had completely drained our accounts. If it flopped, Pipsqueak Productions wouldn’t survive the loss, and the weight of its failure would fall squarely on my shoulders. But if it succeeded? We’d beat O’Neill at his own game, and I’d show that a woman could produce plays as well as movies.
Onstage, the electricians cycled through the spots. One side of the train car disappeared into darkness as the focus shifted from stateroom to parlor. Then both sides of the train vanished as the spot shifted to downstage center, where the various characters would come forward to enact scenes from their past, scenes that revealed the source of the doctor’s wounded pride and the seeds of the father’s irrational prejudice. During the doctor’s scenes, the electricians switched to a different gel in order to bring out the features in his dark face. They’d never lit a black man before, one of them told me, and it took them a while to settle on the right filter.
“It’s magnificent.” Harrison came up behind me and settled a heavy hand on my shoulder. “You always had a good eye for sets.”
“I only made a rough sketch,” I protested, giving the set designer her due for executing such a complicated vision.
“O’Neill can keep his jungles and drumbeats.” Harrison pulled me closer. “Without Gilpin, The Emperor Jones would have been a farce. Wait until the critics see what he does with this role.”
I broke away and turned to face him. “Wait until they see what you’ve done with it, Harrison. You found the playwright, you had the vision. It’s more yours now than it ever was mine.” It was true. Harrison had understood the tightrope we were walking with this play. Though it had an integrated cast, for the production to be a success we’d need white theatergoers to fill the seats. With that in mind, Harrison had worked with the playwright to shift the emphasis of the original story. In the play, the white father was now the protagonist, the audience meant to sympathize with his struggle to accept the assistance of the black doctor. The doctor’s refusal to treat the girl after being snubbed turned him into the antagonist, and though Gilpin was being paid more—after his Drama League accolade and star turn in London, he had the leverage to drive a hard bargain—the actor playing the father got lead billing.
“Without the producer, nothing gets off the page and onto the stage, we both know that, Helen.” Harrison trained his gaze on me. “Audiences only think about the actors, and critics focus on the director, but you’re the one who’s taken the real risk.”
“So have you, Harrison.”
“Forgoing my salary for a percentage of the profits is the best decision I ever made. I’m sure this play will be the making of us both.” Harrison looked away from me and toward the stage. It felt like stepping out of a hot spotlight.
“Who did you invite to the dress rehearsal?” I asked.
“No one, Helen. This play has been my only mistress.” He let his words hang dramatically for a moment, but I knew his celibacy could be chalked up to the casting: the ingénue playing the dying girl was too young even for Harrison, the actress playing her mother was too old, and the doctor’s fiancée, though beautiful, was black. “Albert’s coming, isn’t he?”
“Of course, and my mother, too. Bernice Johnson is bringing her fiancé, Clarence Weldon.” It s
tuck in my throat to call Clarence her fiancé instead of my friend. We were still friends, of course, but not like before. I was with Albert now, and he was with Bernice. We didn’t have time for long talks in the lobby anymore, not with me so busy and him working a second job. Bouncer at the Sugar Cane Club was no more suited to his education than custodian, but his military training qualified him, and it paid well, which was all that mattered, he told me, now that he and Bernice were saving for their wedding.
“What I can’t figure out, Helen,” Harrison said, assuming a familiarity I resented, “is why you and Albert aren’t engaged yet. He doesn’t strike me as a free thinker.”
“Not as free as you, Harrison. Go on now, and break a leg tonight.”
“Thanks.” He jumped onto the stage, his agility still a surprise, and disappeared into the wings.
• • •
“Where is he, Mom?” I asked, as if my mother could intuit Albert’s whereabouts. When the lights had gone down and he hadn’t arrived yet, I figured he was just running late. But now it was the intermission and he still hadn’t appeared. “You don’t think something’s happened, do you?” Every day in the paper there were stories about people being hit by streetcars, or dropping into open manholes, or being crushed by falling debris. Just yesterday, chaos broke out when the city was plunged into midday darkness by coal dust permeating the fog. Albert had sworn he’d be here for the dress rehearsal. Nothing short of injury, I thought, could explain his absence.
“Jake must have needed him for something. Try not to worry, Helen. Oh, did I show you the telegram Rex sent from New Orleans?” My mother extracted a yellow piece of paper from her pocketbook. I glanced at the blocky letters wishing me luck with the play and said it was nice of him to remember. “Watch the rehearsal now, Helen. God knows you worked hard enough to put on this play. I’ll bet you anything Albert will get here before the curtain falls.”
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