Last Night at the Blue Angel

by Rebecca Rotert

  Mother smiles at me and shakes her head. This is the most you’ve talked after a day of school since you started.

  I tell her, I don’t have friends.

  Mother stops and looks down at me. You don’t?

  I shake my head, wishing I hadn’t said that.

  Why don’t I know this? she asks.

  I shrug.

  We walk in silence after that and I worry she’s deciding I don’t belong with her, that we’re nothing alike because everyone loves her and she’s embarrassed because they don’t love me.

  I wish she would say something. I feel my chest start to tighten.

  She stops again. Well, if Elizabeth is so smart, perhaps she will see what an interesting girl you are. And friend. Then she kisses the top of my head. You’re my best friend, she says. And I have excellent taste.

  I’m so relieved she’s not mad at me that I throw my arms around her and start to cry. My nose runs. She holds me for a while, and then pulls us apart so she can look at me.

  Heavens, child, she says. What on earth is the matter?

  The sun is behind the buildings and the wind is blowing hard. It can seem to come from several directions, one after the other, so that it pushes you right then left and I feel like I could lose my balance.

  Nothing, I say.

  We start walking again and Mother says, Oh, kitten, you feel so much. I’m afraid you are just like me.

  CHAPTER 10

  WHEN WE GET home we stop at the front desk. Sal, darling, Mother says, would you mind terribly having a coffee service sent up to the room?

  Right away, Miss Hill, says Sal.

  It’s not a fancy place. Jim calls it run-down. But when Mother’s around, everyone acts like it’s great here, or like it could be if we all just tried. Like Mother. I think they would do anything for her.

  Oh, and maybe some sweets, says Mother.

  Did you have something specific in mind, ma’am?

  Surprise us, she says.

  Sister loves sweets, she reminds me.

  You do, too, I say.

  Mother shakes her head, smiling at me. You’ve got my number, don’t you, darling?

  Rita is already there when we walk in. She has a pink-and-purple scarf on her head with her platinum waves coming out the bottom. I run to the couch and jump on her. She holds her cigarette way up in the air.

  My caftan, darling! she says. You’re crushing my caftan!

  I squeeze her as hard as I can. When I release her she touches her hair with her free hand.

  Your offspring is trying to kill me with love, she says to Mother.

  Rita sucks the tip of her ivory cigarette holder and then gently sets it on the edge of the big blue ashtray. I put my hands out. She slowly takes off her rings, one at a time, and puts them on my fingers. I study them. She takes the scarf from her head and wraps it several times around mine.

  My little gypsy, she says with her deep, smoky voice.

  Sal rolls in an old, squeaky cart with coffee and sweets on a doily.

  What’s the occasion? says Rita

  Can’t I have my girlfriends over for coffee? says Mother.

  Sister Eye comes in then and pulls off her ugly, brown nun shoes, leaving them at the door.

  You don’t have to take off your shoes, darling, says Mother.

  Oh, yes she does, says Rita, scowling at Sister’s shoes like they said a bad word.

  Please tell me you remembered to pay the gas bill today, Sister says to Rita.

  I did, of course I did. Naomi, darling, please get this woman a drink, says Rita.

  I move quietly around the cart, taking a few butter cookies and two jam thumbprints. I love when we’re all together.

  Kitten, I wonder if you shouldn’t go to your room and do your homework? says Mother.

  Sister Eye looks at Mother and then at me. Maybe your math, she says.

  They want me out of the room, I can tell, so I pretend like doing math in my room is a great idea and leave.

  When I get to my room I open and close my door. Then I crawl back down the hallway to listen.

  I’m so glad you’re here, Mother is saying. I hear her light a cigarette and inhale. David has found me. His sister was in town and we got together and, well, she must have told him.

  You’re kidding me, Sister says.

  No, says Mother.

  Oh, Lord Jesus, says Rita.

  But listen, says Mother. I think it’s all going to be okay. I have a feeling.

  You have a feeling, Rita snarls. Well, in that case.

  Didn’t he marry that woman? The blonde? Isn’t he married? Sister asks.

  Well, yes, there’s that. But I don’t think it’s working out, Mother says.

  Not working out? says Sister. Are we talking about a marriage? A sacrament?

  She’s so VERY dramatic, says Rita. You’d never know WE were the performers here.

  Rita and Mother try to hold back their laughter.

  Sister is not amused. Is he getting a divorce?

  It’s such an ugly word, says Mother.

  Because it’s an ugly thing, says Sister.

  Rita stands and I duck so she doesn’t see me but her arms are out to her sides like she has an announcement. That is not even the point.

  Darling, top me off, says Mother. While you’re up.

  Rita continues, If you ask my opinion, this man can only complicate things, given your history. It seems to me your methods are perfectly sound as they are right now.

  My methods? says Mother. Ice clinks in the glasses.

  You take a lover here, a lover there, as the need presents itself, and everyone is happy. No messy relations, no man to answer to. It seems to me an ideal arrangement, darling. Why dive in, hmm? Haven’t you already swum in this pool?

  But I like him, Mother says, her voice small. We’ve known each other so long.

  Are you already seeing him? asks Sister Eye. Is this whole . . . vulgar conversation moot?

  Mother looks embarrassed. Once.

  Don’t tell me, says Sister. He said, “I’ll come by later, or tomorrow,” and you waited and waited and he never showed?

  It’s complicated, says Mother.

  Well, that is my point, says Rita. Right there. There you go. Off chasing the rabbit. I’m already bored with this conversation and we’ve only begun.

  Mother turns to Rita. Be happy for me.

  Your career needs your attention, darling. You are withering away at a low-level gig.

  The Blue Angel is famous! says Mother.

  Rita lowers herself into a chair. It WAS famous. Now it is a relic. You are performing there because at the moment, Big Doug lacks a better option.

  Mother gasps. What a terrible thing to say! I hear her snap, snap, snap the big glass lighter. Damn this thing.

  Sister says, I might add motherhood here if we’re discussing things that require your attention.

  Well, this afternoon is turning out to be a terrible disappointment, Mother says. I invited my girlfriends over for drinks, to have a little fun.

  And talk about boys? Rita says. Fix our nails and set our hair and talk about boys? Is that what you hoped for? So help me, Jesus. She stands and begins pouring another drink.

  Well, now I need one, too, says Sister.

  Rita nods at her. That’s the spirit.

  There is a fast rap on the door then and Jim lets himself in. I wave at him and put my finger to my mouth.

  I thought I was picking you up today, he says, blowing my cover.

  Mom did, I say, following him to the living room.

  I see that now. You need to communicate with me, he tells Mother. How do you do, Sister? Miss Rita.

  I’m so sorry, Jimmy, Mother says, walking to him.

  I was worried sick. I looked everywhere for her.

  I know, I know. I’m sure. I’m terrible. I’ve just been so distracted.

  Well, cut it out, he says.

  It won’t happen again. Don’t be mad at me, darli
ng. You know I can’t bear it.

  There’s a new girl at school, I tell Jim. Her name is Elizabeth. She’s a Negro. The only one at the whole school!

  Well, it’s about time, he says, but he’s fixed on Mother, his face red.

  I think we’re going to be friends, I tell him.

  Now Jim is listening. He squats down on his haunches and looks at me. Good, he says. That’s just fine.

  Rita beckons him to the couch. Come join us, Jimmy. You’ve had such a trying day.

  Why the powwow? he asks, sitting next to Rita.

  Mother bustles to the cart. Let me make you a drink. She moves fast when she’s in the doghouse.

  I sit on the floor next to the couch.

  We’re discussing Naomi’s love life, says Rita, giving her cigarette holder a twist.

  So it’s a sleepover, then? he says. Rita laughs and gives him a little push.

  Please let’s not in front of the child, says Sister.

  Kitten knows everything. Don’t you, darling? Mother says.

  I nod. I have a notebook.

  Everyone laughs. I laugh, too, though I’m not sure why.

  IS there anything you don’t know, asks Sister, looking tired.

  Is there anything we don’t HAVE to know? says Jim.

  Sister raises her glass. Another toast. To music. And to motherhood. Which both demand your FULL attention. Salut?

  Mother blinks, already thinking about something else, and takes a tiny sip.

  Jim stands up and walks over to the window. He turns around and looks over the room of women.

  Sophia, you want to go shooting with me? he asks.

  Who’s getting the ax now? Rita asks.

  A little old church on Belden. A beauty. They hired me to photograph it so they can raise money to have it rebuilt someday. Can you imagine? These people break my heart.

  Rita shakes her head. I ask Mother if I can go and she waves at me.

  Go change, says Jim. Dress warm.

  I carry Jim’s tripod down the street like I’m carrying a rifle. Sometimes I secretly aim it at someone and say kapow. We walk at a pretty good clip. I think I should settle on an enemy. All men in hats. Kapow. Kapow. Kapow. Ladies in any kind of fur—stole, hat, muff, coat. Kapow. Kapow. A woman notices me shooting her and scowls. Jim catches this.

  What are you doing? he asks.

  What? I’m just trying to keep up.

  It’s getting hard to shoot people because he’s walking so fast.

  Why the big hurry? I ask.

  We’re losing light.

  I roll my eyes. We are always fighting the light.

  When did you start rolling your eyes? he asks. I don’t like it.

  Why don’t you just take pictures in the middle of the day? Then you could have all the time you like.

  The light is flat then. I’m sure he’s had to tell me this before.

  Two men in hats walking with two ladies in fur. Kapow-kapow-kapow-kapow. I startle them. They actually stop walking and look at me, and then at Jim.

  Sophia! says Jim.

  Sorry.

  I took her to see Cat Ballou last week, Jim tells the couples. Guess it rubbed off on her.

  The couples smile and move along. I overhear one of the women say something like, A little young for Cat Ballou?

  Where are we going? I ask.

  Church of the Covenant. They’re going to tear it down.

  For progress?

  He looks down at me and nods. How’d you know?

  You told me already, I say.

  The two things that upset Jim the most are progress and Mother.

  Who’s this David guy? I ask.

  Jim takes out his pack and lights a cigarette.

  I say, Do you know you always light a cigarette when I ask you questions about Mother?

  No, I don’t.

  Yes, you do. It’s okay if you don’t know the answer.

  Is that right? he says, stopping.

  I stop, too, and look up at him.

  Everything seems to be happening too fast these days, he says.

  Yup, I say. So do you know who David is?

  You met him. At the club.

  Why are they having a meeting about him?

  We turn onto Halsted and walk toward Belden.

  What’s a divorce? I ask.

  It’s when people who are married get unmarried.

  We stop in front of the church.

  I like this one, I decide, telling Jim.

  Me, too.

  Jim tries the door. We walk around to the side and find a smaller door that opens. He gives me the be quiet look as we step inside. An old man kneels in front of rows of small, red burning candles. It’s only a little less cold inside the church. We put our gear down quietly, get on our knees, and bow our heads. Jim keeps an eye on the old man. I follow the planks of light coming in from the windows and landing on the pews or the floor, spotlights on empty spots where somebody stood once or prayed or knelt.

  Once the man is gone we get to work. Jim shoots the main windows and the altar, the archways and the pillars, the sentences about God and the rows of candles where the old man prayed. The smell of the flash gets up in my nose, its white light hanging over my eyeballs long after it’s done.

  We are out before anyone else comes.

  I try to imagine how you would knock down something so big, so solid. When are they tearing it down?

  Any day now.

  It’s much colder with the sun down behind the buildings and I feel frightened by the idea of something just getting ripped down “any day now.”

  Can’t you stop them?

  Jim shakes his head. I write letters practically every day. No one is listening. Remember when you were real little and I brought you to our protest? We all had signs? You had one, too?

  What did my sign say? I ask.

  “Mayor Daley Save the Garrick.”

  Oh, yeah, I say. I mostly remember Mother yelling at you.

  Me, too, says Jim.

  I want to ask about David again but I can see that Jim’s afraid I’m going to ask about David again.

  I decide to ask Rita when we get home but all the ladies are dancing and drinking when we arrive. They’ve pushed the furniture to the edges of the room and Sam Cooke is singing “If I Had a Hammer” on the record player. They are clapping and snapping the fingers of their free hands. Jim takes a few photographs of them, mostly Mother, and then takes his camera off his neck so he can sing and clap along with Sam Cooke. “I’d sing out danger! I’d sing out a warning!”

  Rita takes my hands and spins me around. When the song ends, Rita and Sister sit down and I squeeze between them. Sam Cooke starts to sing “When I Fall in Love” and Mother sways back and forth, singing along. She reaches her arm out to Jim. Jim shakes his head. She walks to him and takes his hand. He grabs her around the waist and pulls her close. They dance slowly, Mother singing lightly, her eyes closed.

  Sister sighs. She’s not fair to him.

  He’s a big boy, says Rita.

  Still, says Sister. Look at him.

  His face is against Mother’s hair. His eyes are closed.

  When that song is over, “Twistin’ the Night Away” comes on. Mother grabs Sister and Rita and me from the love seat and we all twist together, bumping into one another. I don’t realize until it’s over that Jim has slipped out without even saying good-bye.

  Naomi

  CHAPTER 11

  KANSAS, 1954

  I WAS SEVENTEEN WHEN I graduated from school. Sister Idalia went to my parents and told them, Naomi really ought to go to college.

  What’s a woman do with a college education? Father said.

  Sister Idalia gave them all kinds of ideas but they just stared at her like she was speaking Italian.

  Father enjoyed listening to her talk about me, he did. But then he said, We need her here. Or maybe she gets a job and helps out that way, Sister. College is not realistic. We have so many bank notes, they could
get called any day. He looked at his hands. Mother’s face was blank. She got up from the kitchen table and floured a board. She had long since given up on thinking about anything but the next thing to be done.

  I didn’t stick around for the rest of the conversation.

  That day, downtown Soldier was celebrating Eisenhower’s visit. He wasn’t even coming to our town but everyone cleaned up and decorated like he might drop by. It was a big deal that he had lived in Kansas and everyone was acting like he was their son. Laura and I sat at the soda shop. We were only apart when we had to be. Boys walked by us and said, Hi, Laura.

  Miss Catherine is leaving, she said, trying to spoon the last bit of root-beer float from her glass. She’s marrying that man she’s been going with. Maybe Daddy would take you on at the bank.

  Are you going steady with Alan? I asked.

  Laura squinted at me. What are you talking about?

  You do things with him.

  Her eyes traced the long row of glasses behind the counter and she said, We do spend an occasional excruciating evening together, it’s true.

  Have you kissed him?

  Don’t you think I would have told you that?

  I don’t know. Do you want to?

  Laura looked at me, vexed. No. I don’t. I wish I did, she said to herself.

  I’d been doing that a lot. Upsetting her like that. I kept trying to stop.

  We were talking about getting you a job, she said.

  I looked at my dress. I wouldn’t have anything to wear.

  Pfft, I have all kinds of old dresses you can have. Besides, with your shape, you could wear a flour sack and still look like Deborah Kerr. She put one palm against my waist and the other against the small of my back. I glanced around the soda shop. There was a feeling like a house of cards falling in my stomach.

  That’s settled. I’ll talk to Dad tonight, she said.

  Afterward we walked together to the edge of town. Fireworks popped randomly. Look at it this way, said Laura, if you get a job at the bank, at least we’ll be together. She squeezed my shoulder and ran up the road to their big yellow house. Two dogs raced each other to reach her first, their tails whipping with happiness.

  I took the long way home, past the schoolhouse. The sky was inflamed. Sister Idalia was playing Ella Sings Gershwin. I could hear it all the way from the road. She was lucky nobody lived nearby. Ella was singing, “Gibraltar may tumble . . . but our love is here to stay.”