Last Night at the Blue Angel

by Rebecca Rotert

  He lifts my face up, holds it in his hands, and peers down at me over the top of his glasses. You want me to be your dad?

  I nod.

  Then it’s settled. My love for you is separate from her. You understand? You taught me that. End of story. Anyway, we gotta stick together, you and me.

  He puts his arms around me and holds me really tight. It feels like he’s going to hold me forever. Some people can hold you forever and some people can’t. That’s all of it, I think.

  Let’s go up and make pancakes and have a good day, okay? he says.

  I take his hand and we walk toward home. We pass a fire hydrant and I stop to look at it. How did I forget to put fire hydrants on the list? Where does the water even come from?

  CHAPTER 48

  THE REST OF the day feels like maybe the most normal day I’ve ever had. We make pancakes and eat them. Mother and Jim read the paper while I study my new nuclear-fallout book. They teach me gin rummy and it turns out I’m pretty good at it. They smoke cigarettes and sip drinks while I have a bottle of Coke. We change the sheets on our beds, sweep, and do the dishes. We have cheese sandwiches in the afternoon. Then Jim helps me get ready for my spelling quiz. Meanwhile, the phone rings all day, so often that Mother and Jim don’t even look at each other when it does.

  I call Elizabeth and her mother answers. I almost hang up.

  Thank you for bringing Elizabeth to the party last night, I tell her.

  That is very polite of you, Sophia. I hope you had an enjoyable evening.

  I don’t say anything about that.

  Anything else? she says.

  May I please speak to Elizabeth?

  For a moment.

  Then there is Elizabeth’s voice. Have you seen your new house yet?

  I don’t think we’re going to move now.

  What?

  I think everything has changed, I tell her.

  Elizabeth sighs. Nothing ever changes in my life. Then she calls out, Coming! I have to go. I’m going to the library with Dad. I wish you could come.

  See you at school tomorrow, I say.

  When I come back Jim is sitting on the floor in the living room, bent over the coffee table. He’s moved a lamp so that it’s next to him, lighting a photograph of Mother and me. I sit on the floor opposite him. In the photo, Mother is squatting in front of me holding my hands in hers, and we’re smiling at each other. There are other people in the picture but it’s like they’re not really there. The picture seems to be about how much she loves me. You’d never know by looking at her that she ever loved anyone else.

  Jim is dipping a little paintbrush into a tiny vial of black liquid and touching the brush lightly on some white spots and squiggles on the picture.

  What are those?

  It’s from dust on the negative.

  What are you going to do with that picture? I ask.

  Mother comes in for a drink.

  I’m going to send it to Look magazine. The editor says he wants more pictures of your mother, surprise, surprise. I reminded him that this was ORIGINALLY going to be a story about Chicago, its beautiful architecture, and how it’s getting destroyed before our eyes.

  Progress, I said.

  Yeah, progress. And he says he wants the buildings, sure, but he also wants the singer, says he wants to create a whole picture: the rising star in a city that’s falling down, or something to that effect.

  It sounds terrific to me, Mother says.

  Well, it would, Jim says, shaking his head and grinning at her.

  I would like to have that picture, too, I say.

  While it dries, he looks through his stack of photos. Church, theater, tall building, Mother, Mother and me, Mother and our friends, grand entrance, archway, column, staircase, Mother onstage, Mother backstage.

  Jim thinks, takes a deep breath, then he sets them in an old photo-paper box and puts the lid on. A small piece of paper with Look magazine and an address is taped to the lid. He taps it with his finger.

  I think they look pretty good, I tell him.

  I don’t know. There’s something missing. He faces me. I don’t think these give you a true sense of the destruction. It’s altogether too romantic, don’t you think?

  God forbid, says Mother, laughing and wandering back out of the room.

  That night Mother tucks me in. She’s changed into a long caftan, something Jim likes. She sits down on my bed. Let’s talk.

  About what?

  I’ll start. I said some awful things to you last night.

  I stare at the dead bugs in the fixture on the ceiling.

  I also want to tell you that I think I’ve made a mistake with you. I always think you’re all right. Because you’re so smart and self-sufficient. So I guess I leave you alone. I don’t worry. But maybe I should.

  I’m fine.

  Well, I’m going to try to think of you more.

  Okay.

  I really like Elizabeth. I think she’s a very good friend.

  I nod.

  Is there anything else you want to talk about?

  I shrug.

  Go ahead, she says, sitting up straight, like I’m going to punch her.

  I think you’re going to hurt Jim. Like the others. And he’s going to leave us and then what will we do?

  She looks down at my bedspread and tugs at a piece of thread.

  We are adults, she finally says.

  I thought you loved David.

  She stands up. I do but . . . You know, darling, David is like a strong current and you can swim as hard as you like, but you will always end up going his way. We’ve worked so hard. She looks down at me.

  So you’re going to be with Jim now?

  We’ve really always been with Jim, haven’t we?

  You’re not going to mess it up?

  Her mouth tightens. I hope not. I really hope not.

  I pull the covers tight around myself, close my eyes, and let myself feel a little bit happy.

  CHAPTER 49

  JIM STAYS THE night and they’re both up early. Mother is smiling a lot. Mother smiling makes Jim smile makes me smile.

  Before we leave for school, he takes Mother’s face in his hand, almost the same as he did in the car two nights before, but this time he kisses her.

  Oh, brother, I say, looking away and pretending to be disgusted.

  Sister Eye is waiting for me outside school. I’ll take her from here, Jim, she says, and he says thank you and gives her a kiss on the cheek. What in heaven’s name, she says, touching the place where he kissed her as he walks off.

  How’s my girl? Sister says to me.

  Fine.

  I’ve been worrying about you. I tried to call.

  We hold hands while we climb the stairs. What did you want?

  I wanted to tell you that I think your life is too often . . . crazy. Unpredictable. Do you know that word?

  I shake my head no.

  You never know what’s going to happen next, she says.

  You can say that again.

  That’s all, she says. I see you and I wish it were different.

  Later in the week, Mother offers one of her closets to Jim so he can make a darkroom in it. While he’s in there nailing a clock to the wall and Mother is getting her makeup on, Big Doug shows up at the door. He asks to speak to Mother alone but she says, No, they’re my family. We all sit down in the living room. A family. Mother offers him a drink but he doesn’t want one.

  You know why I’m here, he says to Mother.

  She nods.

  It’s been swell. I’m your biggest fan, you know that.

  I know, says Mother. She puts her hand in Jim’s.

  Big Doug folds his hands in his lap. We kept the Angel plugging along for quite a while, you and me.

  You found someone new?

  He nods.

  How much longer do I have? she asks.

  Three more weekends, he says. Plenty of time for you to find another gig.

  All right, says Mot
her.

  Besides, you don’t want to be stuck in some old joint singing the old songs. You got to get out there! Find your fame!

  I had hoped it would find me, Mother says, standing and extending her hand. Thank you, Douglas. For everything.

  Can’t wait to say I knew you when, he says cheerfully on his way out the door.

  After he leaves, Mother and Jim sit on the couch a long time.

  It’s going to happen for you, says Jim. Don’t think for one minute that it won’t.

  CHAPTER 50

  HILDA MAKES MOTHER a new dress for her last performance. When she asks Mother why she would want a new dress for her last show, Mother says, This is not the end, Hilda. It’s the beginning.

  They argue for what seems like an hour over the sexiness of the dress. Mother keeps saying more, Hilda keeps saying too much. Mother doesn’t want me to see it because she wants me to be surprised along with everybody else.

  We’ve got three weeks, Mother says. Will it be ready?

  Yes, yes, yes, says Hilda, resigned.

  When we get back from the fitting there is a note from Jim. He’s gone out to take pictures. Just a few. Back before lunch.

  Let’s have a picnic! she says.

  It’s a beautiful day, a windows-open kind of day. We do our chores around the apartment, go to the grocery store, and prepare lunch.

  Do you have a new job yet? I ask her.

  No, she says, scrubbing potatoes and glancing at the potato salad recipe in the Redbook on the counter.

  Are you sad that you only have a few performances left?

  Mother raises the potato peeler in the air. It’s funny, kitten, but I’m not. I’m not sad at all. I have a feeling, you see. I can’t explain it. I believe it’s all going to work out for the best. She looks down at the recipe in the magazine. Did we remember to buy an onion?

  I hand her the onion. I like working beside her, cooking, thinking about a picnic with Jim in the park, in the sun and wind, just the three of us. A family.

  I love you, Mom, I say.

  She stops peeling and looks at me.

  You do? she says. Her breathing quickens and all of a sudden she has tears in her eyes.

  I nod. Yup. She pulls me to her and hugs me with her face against my head.

  I love you, too. I swear to God I do, she whispers into my hair, crying just a little.

  In the end, the potato salad is a pale yellow dry mush. We stare at it. I taste it. It reminds me a little of the papier-mâché mix we made in art. Mother adds salt and some A-1 sauce, tries it again, and winces.

  You think we should ring the kitchen?

  I think we better, I say

  Well, shucks, she says, staring at the bowl of mush.

  I try to stifle my laughter while Mother is on the phone, wrapping the cord around her finger, flirting with the kitchen guys, describing the disaster. No, you should really see it, she says, laughing, it’s perfectly terrible. I imagine her telling Jim the whole story when he gets here. And of course Mother will make the story worse, more dramatic. She’ll act it out at the picnic maybe, standing barefoot on the blanket, and we’ll laugh because this is how she loves us. We know this because we’re the ones who know her, Jim and me. We’re the ones who understand.

  Just in time! Mother says when a guy from the kitchen brings us potato salad. You’re a lifesaver. We finish packing the picnic basket and Mother looks at the clock. Well, mister, where are you? she says to herself.

  She looks out the window. It’s warm out there today. She goes into her room and puts on a different dress. I look out the window at the street. I’ll be able to spot Jim by his tripod.

  An hour passes and then two more. You know Jim, says Mother. He always loses track of time when he’s taking photographs. She takes the blanket out of the basket and spreads it on the living room floor. I understand this. Same thing happens to me when I’m singing. Whole night just goes by like that, she says, snapping her fingers.

  We have our picnic on the floor.

  I’m gonna miss the Blue Angel, I tell her.

  I know, sweetie. Me, too. Bigger and better things! she says, raising her sandwich in the air like a toast. We tap our sandwiches together and laugh.

  We save plenty for Jim.

  After pacing and smoking for a little while, Mother says, Well, I need to be getting ready. She makes herself some coffee and heads into the bathroom. After she finishes her hair and makeup and changes her clothes, she comes into the living room and puts her hand on my shoulder. You may as well stay here. He’ll be home any minute. Is that all right?

  Yes, I say.

  Okay, kitten, she says. You know what? Even though the day didn’t go as planned, I sure did enjoy myself. We had a good day, didn’t we? Just the two of us?

  I smile and nod. You’re going to be late. See you later, alligator.

  After she’s gone, I wander around the apartment. I eat some ice cream out of the carton, turn on the television. First I watch Flipper, then I watch I Dream of Jeannie. During the show, I look at the door, cross my arms in front of me, and bob my head like Barbara Eden. Please bring Jim home now, I say. But he doesn’t appear in a poof of smoke. I didn’t really think he would. I’m starting to get mad. You could at least call.

  Mother calls during intermission. Any word? she asks. No, I say. Sometime during the NBC Saturday-night movie, I fall asleep. When I wake up the apartment is entirely dark except for the television. No Mother yet, no Jim. The news is on. A reporter says, A portion of the old Chicago Stock Exchange, which was in the early stages of demolition, has collapsed. No injuries have been reported but citizens are asked to avoid the area until further notice.

  The phone rings and I run for it, already relieved. I know it’s Jim. Finally.

  Doll, it’s David. His voice sounds tight. Your ma home yet?

  No.

  Jim there?

  No.

  You alone?

  Yes.

  Why are you alone?

  David?

  Yes?

  The news just said that the Stock Exchange building collapsed.

  I saw it, he says.

  I swallow. I feel myself breathing. Jim . . . Jim went out to take pictures today and he said he’d be right back and he never came back and he never called.

  When was this?

  This morning.

  He’ll turn up, doll. He will. You two photograph every building in town practically. I’m sure he’s all right. He’s a smart guy. You worry a lot. You really do.

  That’s what Jim says.

  Why don’t you make sure the door’s locked and go to bed.

  Okay, David. I hang up the phone and lie back down on the couch.

  CHAPTER 51

  WHEN I WAKE up, Mother is sitting in the living room, smoking, in the same outfit she was wearing when she left. I can see by her face that she hasn’t slept.

  She forces herself to smile. Good morning, love.

  Did you hear from him?

  She shakes her head no.

  Did you see the news—

  I know, she says sharply. I’m not worried. She takes a deep breath and touches her eyebrow. You know, he’s just so worked up about this Look magazine spread that he’s not himself.

  Okay, I say. What do we do?

  I don’t know. She puts out her cigarette and lights another.

  We spend the next few hours in silence, walking around the apartment in circles like fish in a tank, avoiding each other. I go from feeling scared to feeling panicked. When the phone rings, we both jump like a gun went off.

  Hello, says Mother. Yes, yes, this is she. Mrs. Piccolo. Nice to meet you, too. She listens. I don’t know where he is either. Yes, if I hear anything, I’ll let you know. Right away. I will, ma’am. Please don’t be upset.

  She hangs up and steadies herself against the wall.

  Who was that?

  She shakes her head.

  Who was that? Answer me! You have to answer me!
r />   She looks startled. Jim’s mother. In New York. She said he calls her every Sunday morning at ten A.M. No matter what. He didn’t call this morning. He’s never missed a Sunday. I didn’t even know she was alive. She laughs a little bit. There’s so much I don’t even know about him.

  She stands up straight. Go put your shoes on.

  I can’t move.

  Go! she shouts.

  As we get closer to the Stock Exchange the traffic becomes more and more congested. While we are stopped at a long light, Mother just gets out of the cab and starts walking. I run after her. What is left of the Stock Exchange is hugged in dust. We keep walking until we run into the sawhorses that have been set up around the sidewalk to keep people from getting too close. Cars are parked haphazardly in the street.

  Mother tries to get close but a guy in a hard hat stops her. Sorry, ma’am.

  Excuse me, she says, please let me pass.

  I can’t do that, ma’am.

  She straightens. I believe my . . . There may be a person in that building, she says, her voice shaking.

  The hard-hat man smiles and shakes his head. Now, ma’am, ain’t nobody been in this building for six months. He pats her arm with his big gloved hand and points to the doors and windows at street level, talking to her like she’s a child. See there? She’s all boarded up.

  I move myself in front of Mother. I’ve been in it. I was just in it last month.

  He looks at me and tilts his head. I don’t think so.

  I have so! I shout. You don’t know!

  He raises his arms to the side. Why don’t you two girls head on home now.

  I zip around him and run for the building. He tries to follow me, yelling, Hey! Kid, you come back here this minute!

  I go straight for Jim’s secret entrance and slide the small pallet of boards off the opening. Inside there is only dust and darkness, and I try to walk, feeling my way through the mess with my feet, my arms outstretched and reaching. I try to remember what way we went but I’m so scared I can’t think or tell where I am at all. Through the commotion, I can hear Mother’s voice calling my name. Then my arm runs into a railing and I grab the banister, turn myself around it, and head up the stairs. I get pretty far until somebody snags me like a cat, carrying me down and back outside.