Elaine closed her eyes. “That’s just a ball of stockings.”
“That ball of stockings sure has a long tail!” They stared, and the ball with the tail scurried into the shadows. “We need to catch it!” she hissed.
“And do what with it? We’re locked in for the night.”
“Yeah.”
The two of them repositioned themselves on their cots and squeezed their eyes shut, not daring to open them until daylight illuminated their lids.
With all the chatter, Elaine got an hour or two of sleep. At the break of day, she stepped out onto the sidewalks of Brooklyn Heights, unsteady on her feet. But she exerted herself to drive with caution, which required her to stare at the road almost unblinkingly.
Back in the brownstone, Tommy was asleep in their bedroom, his shirt stained, atop the blankets.
Elaine undressed and gingerly got into bed as a sleeping Tommy rotated his body toward her.
His scent was alcohol and fried foods, and he was snoring. She inhaled his breath as though she might determine how much he’d drunk.
Elaine’s eyes adjusted, and she caught sight of his face in the light that filtered in through the blinds. She drew her breath in horror; a sizable gash glistened red on his forehead. In the shadows of the early morning, it didn’t seem that the blood was fresh.
Wordlessly, she rose from bed to get a bandage. She went back to him, and his glossy hair slipped through her fingers as she tried to get a light hold on his head.
Still asleep, Tommy tilted his body away from her.
* * *
The next evening, Elaine’s friends sat in the small circle of chairs in their literary circle.
“So good to see you, hon.” They kissed her cheek, and for the moment she was enveloped and safe.
Normally she led the circle, but in the two weeks since finding out about her job, Elaine hadn’t visited the Starlite as much, so Gloria had taken over for her. “I figured we would all take turns reading,” Gloria said. “Then we could get to some books.”
There was an art to deciding what to share, how much to reveal. The women had decisions to make each time they removed scraps of paper from their purses and unfolded them, each time they flipped through well-used notebooks, trying to find the right things.
“Does anyone have anything?” Gloria asked.
“I think I do—let me just dig for a little bit.” Elaine’s purse had become a mess, full of bits of scrawled poems on napkins. “I have a little something.”
At the same time, in the back of the Starlite, the women danced, joked, and gossiped, and the volume grew louder. Madeline stood by the door in a defensive upright position—arms crossed over the finely tailored bodice of her dress.
There was an edge to the air that night. The ladies talked louder than usual. Their movements were more exaggerated, demonstrative.
“I wrote this piece the other day.” Elaine cleared her throat. The women in the circle leaned in, trying to hear her.
The Magnifying Glass
Underneath the sharp focus,
Inside the curve of your mouth,
There is an intention,
Which I lose,
Or maybe you’ve never given it to me.
Each day it’s something else.
She had more, but she didn’t read it. Everything was about Tommy, the tempestuous roller coaster of his moods, his magnetism. Everything was encoded into metaphor but obvious to someone who really knew—like Catherine, who was nearby, warming up her voice before she sang them some jazz.
She got the commentary from the circle:
“That was great, Elaine!” Cynthia patted her on the back.
Gloria was lost, pondering. “It left me with this strong feeling, like a sort of longing.”
“I think it’s like when something draws you towards somebody and you can’t stop yourself, you just can’t get enough.” Harriet nodded knowingly.
“It’s like Bernard, like that character I’m dating. There’s something crazy about him, but I just can’t help myself!” Cynthia continued. “He’s so on and off, all these highs and lows. I hate it! But he’s gorgeous, and so romantic! What should we do with these men?”
They had understood, though she hadn’t said anything direct. Elaine excused herself and made her way through the clusters of women and clothing racks to Madeline.
Madeline was sealing the door shut. She tightened a series of dead bolts and triple-checked the lock on the doorknob. She startled to see Elaine hovering over her shoulder, but she flashed a cheerful smile as her hand rested on the knob.
“I had to catch you before everyone else.” Elaine was breathless. “I was wondering if I could talk to you—about Tommy, you know …”
“Of course, darling.” Madeline was gracious and brought Elaine aside, behind the cash register. She lifted two cocktails from the top of the counter. “Care for a sip?”
“No, thank you.”
“What can I offer you, dear?” She sounded distant.
“I need your advice. I just got this stellar job, so now I can leave Tommy. But I don’t know how to do it. I mean, what if he comes looking for me and tries to get me back? And what if I leave him and he—I don’t know, gets hurt? Or hurts himself? Then it would be all my fault.”
Madeline shook her head. “You’re always welcome here, whenever you need to stay—if it’s a social club night or not, you can feel free to bunk at night until you’ve got yourself a steady place.” Her eyes flickered away, and then she smiled at Elaine again.
“Thank you, Madeline. Because—” She paused. “I’m not happy.”
Elaine bit her lip and turned away.
“If you’re not happy, you need to change something.” Madeline turned to face her fully; Elaine finally had her complete attention.
The small creases near Madeline’s eyelids were the marks of someone wise. Someone who understood. Someone who had gone through it all and survived.
Yet soon Madeline’s eyelids fluttered back to the door in wariness, and the spell of her attention was broken.
She had done what she could to barricade them in for the night.
The ladies were light and carefree, twisting and twirling like there was nothing to fear.
Once the song finished, Madeline wandered over to the record player to shuffle through the albums. The women called out their requests, but she shook her head and continued to riffle through the pile.
Then there was a sound. Something unnatural.
A high-pitched disturbance—
A sharp, metallic clang.
A sickening crash of glass. A split-second assault on the eardrums.
The burst of something shattering.
Near the feet of a window mannequin: a pointed lump of concrete. It was a chunk of asphalt, with tiny sharp stones that poked out from its edges.
The explosion of glass had deafened them into silence.
Shards of glass glinted up from the carpet, cutting a swath in the sanctuary as nighttime air blew in through a large, jagged hole in the window.
It was dark outside, with nobody to be seen.
The ladies stared at Madeline, who was quiet.
She was ghastly pale, and so were they.
18
Madeline
They didn’t leave.
Anyone could have been out there, and none of them dared to go out on the streets.
They huddled in a quiet mass in the back of the storefront until the cops arrived.
It had been an attack on the face of the Starlite.
The front window had shattered into bits; the chunk of concrete lay stone-cold at the foot of a mannequin.
The cops had arrived. “You’re in New York City, ladies, not at some barnyard soiree.” They were shocked that a group of women would gather late at night without some sort of guard. But they agreed to put an extra officer on duty for the remainder of the night, especially when Madeline told them that men had been peeking in over the past several wee
ks.
She didn’t say that one of the men might have been Fred.
She wouldn’t be a paranoid ex-wife.
After the police left the Starlite, the ladies bunched together again, in a silence interrupted by whispers, as the frigid air entered through the hole in the window.
Harriet was the first to speak: “I think maybe we should all chip in for a guard. Then we’ll have the protection we need.”
Next to the glass, Madeline hunched down.
She crouched with her knees together, picking up shards. She examined the fragments as though something might change—as though the glass would magically form once again into a front window. Then she reached for another shard, which pierced her skin.
“Shit!” Madeline shrieked. The ladies gaped at her in shock as the illusion of her composure shattered into bits. She sucked on her bleeding finger and knotted her hands together, pushing in the wound. But soon she looked up at them and drew her lips together. She assumed her normal voice once more, speaking to Harriet. “I don’t know about a guard, darling. That sounds very expensive.”
Everyone continued to stare at Madeline as she grew quiet. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead on her hands.
She looked small as she sat on the floor.
Silence overtook them once more.
Inaction struck the group. Exhalations of quiet followed the shock.
The women shuffled in place—some of them sat in the back of the storefront, far away from the glass.
We have to do something … They whispered to each other, and they watched her as she sat frozen, her hands seemingly sewn together as she stared unblinkingly at the jagged hole.
Then at once, a current swelled upward, spurred by a single offer:
“I can give a dollar!”
Then: “I’ll give twenty-five cents!” “I can give two dollars!”
Offers of money flew around the room in a cascade of generosity.
Madeline kept her head down, unable to meet their eyes. She didn’t answer at first; then she struggled to speak. “That’s very beautiful and generous of you, ladies. But I don’t want to take your money individually.” She wouldn’t be a cause. “I might have to charge an entry fee instead. We’ll see what I’ll do. Maybe I’ll get a guard.”
But now she had declared them defenseless, in need of outside protection.
“I can ask my brother!”
“I can ask my boyfriend!”
Offers of guards popped up in quick succession, but she couldn’t talk about it.
One of the cops had parked his squad car outside, providing surveillance for the rest of the night and an endless loop of silent red sirens through the broken window.
19
Elaine
Elaine arrived back at the brownstone in the wee hours of the morn- ing. Next to Tommy, it was stuffy in the bedroom. The old radiator pumped with too much intensity; she could barely breathe, and the heat of his sleeping body put her over the edge.
That rock could have smashed one of their skulls. Elaine held her own head now.
Madeline was obviously a target; they all were. Who were they to frolic in the moonlight and believe they could?
Madeline always gave pause at the doors, at the windows. She was always on the lookout, but Elaine had missed the signs because of her own distraction.
She was under her own daily siege, as a moth to Tommy’s flame.
He shifted over with a pained grunt, and his bloodshot eyes confronted her with eerie intensity. “Why, oh Elaine, why?” he mumbled, then closed his eyes again. His arm rested on the bandage.
It was the day before she started her new job. But her blood was clogged with Tommy; at the same time, her head was frozen on that concrete near the foot of the mannequin.
She crept downstairs to escape, to have a sit in the front room. The soft glow of the sun suffused the entire room in light yellow. It could almost be peaceful; she could almost lounge on this padded chair in the quiet of the morning; but instead she closed her eyes, and the deep red of her lids turned into an image of Tommy’s forehead.
Nearby, Catherine was sprawled out in her skirts, asleep on the couch.
Outside, the day had started—some neighbors scraped ice from their windshields, others walked briskly down the sidewalk. Elaine would be out with them tomorrow, off to her job to contribute to one of the world’s most important newspapers.
She made her tea extra strong this morning. Three tea bags in one cup, steeping for ten minutes.
She would ring her parents in England; they would be proud to hear of her new job. It would at least be a distraction to talk to them.
The operator patched her through, with the usual broken rings as her call pushed through the transatlantic cable.
“Fabulous timing, Elaine! You seem to have a knack for knowing when to call. We were just about to leave the flat for a little tea.”
Elaine twitched her nose. “Sounds great, Mum.”
“What brings you to calling, dear? We haven’t heard from you in a while.”
Yet her mother had sent her and Catherine to America when they were teenagers—to a boarding school, to “teach them independence.”
“I have some good news to share. I’ve gotten a job at the Chronicle. I’ll be a fact-checker.”
“Oh—really, dear?” Her mother seemed distracted.
“I start tomorrow.”
“I suppose that means you’re finished with Tommy, then?”
“No—why would it?”
“Usually an engaged woman doesn’t just look around for work. Especially, well—Tommy has some money, doesn’t he, darling? Didn’t you tell me about an inheritance?”
Always about the money. Never about her.
“I’ve always wanted to work for the Chronicle, Mum. I’m really excited,” she said, as the joy fell out of her in clumps, like cotton from a stuffed animal. “Can I talk to Dad?”
Her father always read the Chronicle; he always had it air-mailed to London so he could check the prices of commodities. He would certainly understand the enormousness of her accomplishment.
“Your father’s a bit occupied at the moment, Elaine, but I’m sure he’ll send his best wishes.”
Tommy was waking up; his heavy steps led him down the stairs from the bedroom.
“Look out for my package in the post, dear. A birthday gift. And be sure to give Catherine our regards. Tell her to ring us up one of these days. Very sorry, Elaine, but we really have to get going—we told our friends we would meet them at two thirty sharp.”
“ ’Bye, Mum.” An emptiness hovered inside the bulk of the receiver as soon as she set it down.
Tommy had moved to the breakfast table, where he was cradling his bandaged forehead. “You’re up early, Elaine. Aren’t you still on your vacation time? I’m surprised you’re not using it.”
“Why don’t you just go back to sleep, Tommy?”
“You just want to get rid of me all the time, don’t you?” Tommy laughed. “Well, guess what—I’m going to stay with you this whole day. Gotta spend some time with my lady before she heads out on her own.”
Elaine shrugged. “Fine. It’ll be a lot of watching me clean.”
“I’ll do some cleaning too. I guess I need to do my fair share around here, right?” He smiled, rubbing her shoulders.
“Suit yourself.”
He was trying to prove something to her. It was another game. She pulled away from his touch.
Then she made them breakfast. Sausage links and eggs. They dined in the dawning light of day. Tommy removed the bandage from his head and placed it on the table. The thin red slash across his forehead glistened in a coating of sweat.
Elaine gulped; her eyes locked on his head. If he wanted to tell her, he would. She was also hiding the truth of last night. The attack on her social club.
“If you’re wondering about this on my head—I had a little fight with some of the boys. I think they understand my point now,” he lau
ghed. “They surely won’t mess with me tonight.”
A shiver passed through Elaine’s body, yet she smiled brightly.
“So, first, I’d like to give a good scrubbing to the bathtub; then we need to organize our bookshelves, and do the ironing for the week.”
A smile of mischief played across Tommy’s lips. “Absolutely, my darling.”
He sprung from his chair with a sudden movement, and Elaine watched wide-eyed as he opened the linen closet, grabbed one of her aprons and a pair of her cleaning gloves, and donned them with gleeful abandon. “Tell me what to do, boss!” He smirked.
Elaine formed her lips into a straight line, like his scar. “The scrubbing soap is under the sink.”
“You didn’t know how well I can clean. I can be your regular man of the house.”
Soon he had scrubbed their claw-foot bathtub in vigorous circles. She observed the same kind of intensity he brought to their lovemaking, his gadgets, and his benders.
And she scrubbed their sink. His magnetism kept her watching this damaged but concentrated specimen of a man.
The rest of the day followed in housekeeping tasks, and somehow as the dinner hour drew near, they laughed together, and she watched herself drift to him again; they hugged and kissed, and it all was natural and easy, like nothing was wrong at all.
Then the sun set and it was evening. In the fading light of day, he started to run his hands over her waist.
But she glanced through the window, at the darkness, and pulled her body away from him.
“You know I’m starting my job tomorrow. I’ll have to wake up very early.”
“That’s right, Elaine. I guess I’ll be seeing you around, then.” He gave a half smile, poked his fork into a chunk of tomato on her chopping board, and tossed it into his mouth.
Then he donned his coat and left.
* * *
Elaine tossed and turned all night. And at one point she started to dress, to head over to the Starlite, even though it was almost midnight and surely Madeline wouldn’t have opened the social club so soon after the vandalism. But her skin itched from all sides, as though thousands of tiny ants surrounded her, trying to lift her up from bed.
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