I’d never been so fussed over as I was at Eagle’s Rest. All this luxury should have made me feel special but instead I felt diminished by comparison. The way Jake lived was a testament to family, inheritance, and success. For family, I was down to a widowed mother, our only inheritance my father’s life insurance checks. I’d failed first at being an actress, then a manager, and now a producer. I’d never bear a child, couldn’t even adopt one on my own. The future I imagined for me and Albert was impossible as long as King was lurking in the wings. Albert kept saying what good friends we’d be, the three of us, but I wouldn’t be able to stand it, watching him give someone else what he couldn’t give me.
It was bad enough now that Bernice had come to live in my building. I’d assumed that losing her job managing the Olde Playhouse would delay their marriage, but she’d recalculated. Instead of splurging on a big wedding, Clarence and Bernice had settled for a small ceremony at Saint Benedict the Moor before taking over the second bedroom in the custodian’s apartment from Clarence’s sister. With her light skin and letters of reference, Bernice had no trouble finding a new position balancing books for a bank downtown. But she had bigger plans now, Clarence told me: to save up enough to purchase their own building, where Clarence would be custodian and Bernice the manager. Lately, I couldn’t cross the lobby without seeing one or the other of them, gold bands bright on their fingers.
It made Harrison’s offer all the more tantalizing. I had the letter he’d sent from Los Angeles folded in my pocket. The movie business was booming, he wrote. They were in dire need of producers and directors—and he’d met women doing both. I knew better than to think he was hinting at marriage when he said what a good team we’d make. Still, his proposition was enticing. Throw your lot in with me, Helen, and the sky’s the limit for both of us. Even if all I got from Harrison was a few introductions, I figured that would be enough to land me a job. In California, I’d have a fresh start on my own two feet. My mother hated the idea, of course, and not just because she’d be left living alone. She was convinced Jake’s interest in me was an opportunity I couldn’t afford to pass up. But when he’d closed Pipsqueak Productions, I’d seen how vulnerable I was to the whims of a millionaire.
“Are you ready to be dressed, sir?” Mr. Nakamura’s question signaled that breakfast was over. Albert went to his room to catch up on the Colonel’s correspondence while I reviewed with the cook the menu for the reception. The kitchen, a large space of tiled walls and steel counters, was situated out of sight in the basement, and why not? Jake had no plans of ever setting foot in it. I thought it dreary but the cook preferred it, she said, to the cramped kitchen at Jake’s apartment in the city. When I asked if there’d be enough ice for the cocktails, she showed me a walk-in freezer stacked with blocks wrapped in burlap.
Next I surveyed the seating arrangements in the dining room. It was a wonder there was any oak left in the forest after every inch of the room’s walls had been paneled. A carved mantel, imported from some demolished Bavarian castle, overshadowed the table, while dark beams crisscrossed the ceiling. The cook was planning to prepare asparagus, but I was afraid the green stalks would look unappetizing in such a brown room. I was wondering what yellow vegetables might be in season when Albert found me.
“I’ve finished my work for now, Helen. I thought we could take a walk.” He’d brought my new coat with him and I put it on, though the day had begun to warm a bit. I’d give it to my mother, I decided; I wouldn’t need a seal fur in Los Angeles.
Pip was thrilled to be outside again. He bounced and barked after the peacocks, which screamed and spread their tail feathers until he slunk away, whimpering. We decided to go see the monkey house, following a slate path through a patch of woods to the zoo. There was a scrim of ice on the stone. When my foot slipped, Albert took my hand and held it. How much like lovers we must have looked as we strolled the grounds of Jake’s princely estate.
“King would love it here,” Albert said. “Did you know he spent his summers on his grandparents’ farm in Wisconsin?”
“How would I know that?” I yanked my hand away to pet Bulgari, who had come down from the kennel to greet us. She’d lost her swagger since Oh Boy died last year, and Jake hadn’t shown her at Westminster that winter. I was wiping drool from my hands when she lifted her massive head and barked to greet her master.
“There you two are,” Jake said. “Kramer, I just had a call from Huston. There’s a problem with the easement for the subway station on 161st Street. Equitable Trust won’t sign off on it because of an outstanding lien, but it turns out that lien is their own mortgage! I need you to get on the telephone and straighten it out.”
“Yes, sir. Should I speak to Huston first?”
Jake nodded, his neck dipping into the mink collar of his coat. “Tell him he need not attend the reception if he’d rather stay in the city to supervise.”
“You won’t mind scratching him off the guest list, will you?” I asked as Albert hurried away.
Jake shrugged. “The man can be useful. I’d never have gotten the financing for the stadium on my own. But an organization needs one person at the head, otherwise it pulls itself apart going in different directions. Once we get past all the hoopla on opening day, it’ll be a relief to have the Yankees to myself.”
We continued past the dairy barn and the duck pond to the monkey house. A coal stove in the corner kept it warm and I shrugged off my fur. The smell was awful, despite the fresh straw and sawdust. Half a dozen capuchins swung themselves across the bars of their enclosure like trapeze artists, while a pair of rhesus monkeys sat in a corner of their cage peeling bananas imported all the way from Nicaragua. Pip clawed at my leg, wanting to be picked up. His nose wriggled and his little head swiveled back and forth as he acquainted himself with these strange creatures. I wondered what they thought of their change in circumstances, transported from the jungles of the Amazon to a manicured estate along the Hudson River. Was it a relief to have their food provided daily instead of scavenging through a hostile forest? But no, I realized, as they chirped and screeched. Even an easy life was not a fair exchange for freedom.
“My zookeeper tells me the rhesus pair will breed. Won’t that be something, Helen, to watch them rear a little one?”
One of the capuchins reached out a dexterous hand and grabbed hold of Pip. Its grip was surprisingly strong and I struggled to bend back its fingers. With a yip, Pip jumped from my arms and scampered out of the monkey house.
“I’ve been meaning to thank you, Helen, for organizing this reception.”
“Are you happy with the arrangements?”
“I am, yes. It will be so helpful to have you as hostess. The wives will appreciate it, I’m sure.” I hadn’t realized I was meant to host the party as well as plan it. “I know it was a disappointment for you,” he continued, “losing the production company.”
“Yes it was. I’ve been thinking of going out to California to try my hand at the movies. Joseph Harrison, the director, he went out last month and he’s already got himself a project.”
Jake looked as mystified as if I’d just told him I was planning to fly to the moon. “But, Helen, you can’t go to California. We need you here.”
“I’m sure Mr. Nakamura could have planned this party in his sleep, Jake. There are more opportunities for women in the movies than there are on Broadway. If I’m ever to find my footing again, I need a fresh start in a new industry.”
“Why keep chasing this idea of a career, Helen? So many of us depend on you. Your mother, for one. You know I lived with my mother until the day she died. And then there’s Kramer.”
No there isn’t, I wanted to say, not for me, not as long as King was around. “What about Albert?”
“I need you to help me with him, Helen. You’re a good influence. Together we can keep him out of trouble.”
The pair of rhesus monkeys, having finished their bananas, began to groom each other. One bent its head forward while the othe
r combed long fingers lovingly through its fur. If you want to keep Albert out of trouble, I thought, you can start by keeping him away from King Arthur. I didn’t realize I was thinking out loud. Hearing Jake respond startled me.
“Why’s that, Helen?”
“Oh, well, he’s the one who gave Albert that black eye.”
“Kramer said they’d gotten mixed up with the police at a speakeasy. He didn’t tell me it was King who started the trouble.” Jake cocked his blocky head to the side. “I’ve got enough headaches with Ruth and his shenanigans.”
A minute ago, I thought the only way for me to take charge of my destiny was to relocate to the opposite edge of the country. Now I was being given a chance to change the course of things right here. My mouth went dry. I spoke so softly it was practically a whisper. “I wonder if King might do better on one of your farm teams.”
“That’s not a bad idea, Helen. I don’t usually interfere in these decisions, but I could put in a word with Huggins. I seem to remember him saying the Newark Bears could use a good batter.”
Newark was just across the river. There were ferries every hour. “Didn’t you just acquire a minor league team out in Missouri?”
“Yes, in fact, I did.” He lured the female rhesus away from her mate with a peanut. She reached through the bars and plucked it from his palm with her clever fingers. “Kansas City might be just the place for that soldier. But what about you, Helen? Will you give up this idea of going out to California?”
I realized Jake was offering me a trade: my career for Albert’s safety. With King out of the picture, everything could go back to the way it had been between Albert and me. I knew Albert loved me, he’d said so himself often enough. As for his perverse desire for King, really, I thought, what good could come of it? Police raids, arrests for indecency, blackmail. There was no happiness at the end of the road for men like that—society wouldn’t permit it. I’d be saving Albert from scandal, and Jake, too. He’d built that pocket door between our rooms to protect me from rumors. What rumors would swirl if word got out that Colonel Ruppert’s personal secretary was a pansy? “But what will I do with myself, Jake? I’m a grown woman. I can’t live off my mother.”
He had his solution all cued up. “Work for me, Helen. Kramer does, why shouldn’t you? You’ll help me when I need you. When I don’t, you could teach a class, maybe. Aren’t those settlement houses always looking to enrich the lives of poor children? You’ll have your account at Macy’s, and I’ll make you an allowance. Anyway, you don’t need money in your pockets up here at Eagle’s Rest.”
“What if I get married someday?” The slightest glimmer of hope was enough to rekindle my vision of the future with Albert.
“If you marry, you’ll become your husband’s responsibility, of course. But marriage isn’t for everyone. Look at me. What have I missed that married men have?”
Children, I would have said. Romance. Companionship. But Jake had nephews to carry on the Ruppert name and nieces to spoil with presents. Perhaps in his youth there had been someone who stirred his passion, but at his age I supposed he no longer craved that sort of thing. And he’d have us to keep him company, me and Albert, if only I agreed.
“I guess I’ll give up on California for now.”
Jake gave the monkey another peanut and brushed off his hands. “I’m glad we understand each other, Helen. For Albert’s sake.”
“Yes, for Albert’s sake.” I believed the words were true, but saying them put the taste of soap on my tongue.
Chapter 33
The wind was at our backs as Helen and I stood on the High Bridge, looking down the Harlem River toward the tip of Manhattan, the spire of the Woolworth Building poking up through the distant haze. Closer, the rival ballparks faced off across the river. The Colonel had wanted to outshine the Giants, and he’d certainly done it. The muscular facade of Yankee Stadium rose twice as tall as the squat horseshoe of the Polo Grounds. We could just make out the flags, tiny as toothpick decorations, fluttering from the top of its stands.
On the roads below, an endless line of automobiles carried thousands of passengers toward the ballpark. Trains were running every couple of minutes, crammed with fans eager to tick through the stadium’s forty turnstiles. The Colonel was expecting to fill sixty thousand seats for opening day at Yankee Stadium. It would be the largest assembly of persons to ever witness a game of baseball, the entire population of some small cities converged around a four-acre wedge of grass.
The Colonel’s limousine was reserved for dignitaries that day, so Helen and I were making our own way to the stadium, a pair of tickets tucked securely in my jacket pocket. Mrs. Winthrope would be watching the game with Rex from the clubhouse, but the Colonel wanted me and Helen out in the stands, the better to report back to him, he said, on the atmosphere among the fans. To avoid getting stuck in traffic on the Macombs Dam Bridge, we’d decided to take the subway up to 168th Street and walk across the High Bridge to the Bronx. It was a day so long anticipated we both wanted to savor it at a pedestrian’s pace.
I’d reviewed the Colonel’s schedule with him last night while Mr. Nakamura laid out a double-breasted coat of melton wool with a black velvet collar. There would be a band concert on the field and fireworks to announce the start of play. Photographers from all the papers would be jostling for shots of Colonel Ruppert with Tillinghast Huston and Harry Frazee (how fitting that the first game to be played in Yankee Stadium should be against Boston). A parade to dedicate the stadium would feature the high commissioner of baseball, the Bronx borough president, the mayor of the city, and the governor of New York. The restaurant and refreshment stands were ready for business, the bleachers had been improved to support twenty-one thousand fans, and Babe Ruth had promised Huggins a home run against the Red Sox to inaugurate his new playground.
I jammed my hat farther down on my head. A chill wind was making me second-guess my decision to drag Helen across the High Bridge. I’d been nostalgic for those Sunday afternoons when I’d pass the time up here while Felix was at his trustees meetings. When the history of the Yankees was written, I supposed the abandoned effort to locate the stadium in Harlem would be, at best, a footnote easily overlooked.
“Should we move on, Albert?” Helen asked, my reverie having lasted longer than I realized.
“Sure.” I held out my arm for her, our steps easily falling into sync. “It’s too bad King’s not on the roster. It would have been something to see him on the field today, wouldn’t it?”
“But you said yourself it was a great opportunity for him to play in Kansas City.”
“Oh, it is. The Blues are a competitive team. King was lucky to land a spot with them.” He’d sent me a postcard from Maryland, which was as far north as he’d gotten on the Yankees’ barnstorming trip up the coast. It was only a few words to tell me he’d been signed to the minor league club in Missouri. He wished we could have met again, he wrote, but he was being put on a train in Baltimore and sent directly out west. Look me up if you’re ever in Kansas City! Maybe next year New York?
King’s postcard had dashed my silly hopes of the two of us sharing that apartment the Colonel had offered me. I’d tried talking to Helen about it, but every time I mentioned King’s name she managed to change the subject. Instead I’d gone down to Antonio’s. Jack tried to buck me up, reminding me of the couple of great days (and nights) King and I had shared. But I wanted more than just a night or two. I wanted more than the stolen hours Paul’s benefactor gave him, more even than the furtive way I’d lived with Felix. What I wanted, I realized, as Helen and I strolled arm in arm across the High Bridge, was something I could never have with a man—the kind of relationship I had with her. Out in the open. Without secrets.
Men like us, men with secrets. The Colonel’s words ran through my mind like tape through a stock ticker. When I’d talked it over with Paul, he said it was obvious what the Colonel meant: that he was a man who preferred pansies. It wouldn’t have damaged his reputati
on back in the 1890s, when slumming trips to Greenwich Village were de rigueur for wealthy men like Jacob Ruppert. The Colonel had been so handsome in his youth, the fairies would have flocked to him like fireflies. But he’d always been afraid of scandal. Now that he was the famous owner of a baseball team whose every decision was scrutinized by the press, I could understand why he’d be at pains to keep his past a secret.
If that was, indeed, the secret he meant. We may have both been men with secrets, but what if they weren’t the same ones? I might have been reading too much, all these years, into that incident of the red bow tie. Perhaps he thought my secret was something else entirely. He may have learned that my father had committed suicide, or maybe he thought Helen was my mistress. I should have simply asked him, while his lips were still on my black eye, what he meant by his remark. But the moment had passed, my doubts crept back in, and now I didn’t know how to put the question to him.
“I’m so glad the weather held.” Helen pointed appreciatively at the patches of blue showing through the fast-moving clouds.
“Me too. The Colonel would have been apoplectic if the game had been rained out.”
On such a promising afternoon, it was to be expected that we weren’t alone on the High Bridge. Clusters of men hurried past, the snippets of conversation I overheard suggesting they, too, were heading to the stadium. Ladies promenaded over the old aqueduct. An artist had set up her easel at a picturesque spot. A family was approaching us, the mother pushing an empty pram while the baby took unsteady little steps grasping its father’s outstretched hand. They made a pretty picture, and I lifted my hand to the rim of my hat to acknowledge them as we passed. Then the father raised his chin and I saw the face his hat had hidden.
Bachelor Girl Page 29