Elaine’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, parched like the desert.
Her words came out coarsely. “Right.”
“Great, I’ll see you at the service.” Madeline sounded settled—like she had done her duty.
“Thank you.” Elaine hung up the phone. In a spate of weakness, she sat on the floor.
She was dizzy; she hadn’t eaten anything in three days. Food would make her retch uncontrollably.
She hoisted herself up to the kitchen counter and instead grabbed a tea bag; she brewed a scalding-hot cup.
The liquid fire of the brew bit into a portion of her mouth—she screamed at once, and the cup released itself from her hand, its searing contents spilling down her legs.
Elaine ripped off her wet clothes and crawled upstairs to the bed, where she cried in choking sobs until she was bone-dry and nothing remained.
She hadn’t been able to save him. All that she had given hadn’t been enough—though maybe if she had given more, he could have come out on the other side. Maybe if she had just given one extra piece to him—something that would appeal to him, or even all of herself, devoted to him and nothing else—she could have changed him. Saved him.
24
Lisa
When Lisa arrived back at her Brooklyn apartment, her mother almost lifted her off her feet in a tight hug.
“It’s just so good to see you in one piece, honey. The news keeps showing that area of the bay—the area of the crash. They’re trying to figure out what went wrong.”
The television blared in the living room. Lisa averted her eyes, heading into the kitchen for a snack. Her mother had made cookies. Lisa dunked them in milk; they were sweet and buttery. She stopped after eating two, as there would be another weigh-in soon enough.
“I don’t know, Lisa.” Her mother was still watching TV.
“What’s that, Ma?” Lisa ogled the cookies and their crisp edges.
Her mother entered the kitchen. “You eat when you get nervous, don’t you?”
Lisa hid her shaking foot under the table. “I’m not nervous.”
“I don’t blame you; I would be nervous too, going up in the sky every day. What do you think? Is this something you want to do for the rest of your life?”
“I don’t know, Ma. I love to travel, but they won’t let me be a stewardess for the rest of my life, remember? There’s an expiration date over my head, anyway—I’m toast after age thirty-two. I knew this when I signed up—I can’t do this forever.”
One more cookie. She popped it into her mouth with a satisfying crunch. She didn’t say her other thought aloud—that she would have to quit if she got married.
She would work until she got engaged; she would be forced to quit when she got married anyway. It shouldn’t be too long until the engagement—maybe six months, tops.
“Maybe you should—” The phone interrupted her mother on the verge of something. “Hello? Yes, she’s here. Hold on.”
Her mother handed Lisa the phone with a grimace. It was Billy.
“Hello?”
“Babe! It’s so good to hear that gorgeous voice of yours.”
She giggled. “Hi.”
“Listen, are you off tomorrow? I was thinking you could come by the bridge at the end of my shift, and we could grab pizza or something.”
“Okay, I guess. What time?”
“Four thirty. Just look for Joe if you don’t see me. He always knows where I am.”
“Okay.”
In the background, Billy’s mother informed him that dinner was almost ready. His mother would be setting the table now, carefully placing dinner forks on napkins. Her husband could be anywhere, with anyone.
“See you soon, babe.”
“ ’Bye.” Lisa hung up and jetted to her room, where she sat down on the floor, thumbing through Seventeen magazine. She wasn’t a teenager anymore, but it was still her favorite.
She slung her uniform over the top of a tall chair in her room. There was a stain on it that she would have to clean, but not just yet.
When she switched on the radio, the dial was set to the news. Her mother must have come into her room and listened to it while she was gone. The announcer was talking about the plane crash.
She switched it off.
Maybe if she quit being a flight attendant, if she stopped leaving all the time, it would change their relationship. It would be just the thing to make him think about marriage.
But then she would be stuck in Brooklyn, without the release of travel.
If she was bound to her parents’ dingy apartment, there would be nothing to distract her if Billy wasn’t ready to commit.
There would be nothing to do but sit on her narrow bed and wait.
* * *
The next day, she visited his construction site. The official name was the Verrazzano-Narrows Bridge, but it was the Brooklyn-Staten Island Bridge for now.
She always drew a sharp breath to see the work in progress—the platform in pieces, the cables suspended from the frame. One day it would become the longest suspension bridge in the world, right here in Bay Ridge.
Billy’s demeanor seemed odd when she approached him. It wasn’t a sort of affect she had previously seen; he darted his head around—distracted, lips slightly drawn. But soon enough he was gregarious and full of energy.
“Check out what I did today!”
He put his arm around her waist and led her to the other side of the work site, to a piece of platform he had welded together. One of his friends—Mack—interrupted. Mack jumped off the back of a little truck to come punch Billy’s arm.
Billy punched him back. “You son of a gun!”
Mack went for Billy’s head and held him down in a headlock. He wore an ugly smirk on his face as Billy struggled to crane away, and his pale eyes gleamed with the primal satisfaction of holding another man down. Mack was like an animal, with exaggerated movements: giant puffs of his chest, a wide-legged swagger. He would rapidly sweep his arm when he threw down a cigarette butt.
Not much mattered to Mack, including personal hygiene. Half the time he smelled like something not usually found in civilized society.
And he would always mix Billy up in his trouble. Six months ago, Mack had brought Billy to a party at a house he claimed was abandoned. But the house wasn’t abandoned—the elderly owner was still monitoring it. Mack and Billy almost got arrested.
Mack never called Lisa by her real name. “Hey, why don’t you and you come out with me tonight?” He spat on the grass and spoke through wads of chewing tobacco. “I’m going to catch a flick in Manhattan.”
Billy turned to face Lisa with a hopeful eye. “What do you say, babe?”
She sighed. “What movie is it?”
Mack gave a ghoulish laugh, then ran his fingers up and down her spine to simulate spiders. “It’s a horror flick. You know—one of the ones that makes you scream!”
Lisa jolted away from him, her blouse now tainted by his grease. But Billy barely registered anything as he lit a cigarette.
“No, thanks. That’s not my sort of movie.” Lisa gazed in the distance at her parked car, a long walk from the construction site.
Billy whispered to her under his breath. “Do you mind if I go, babe?”
“Sure.” She gave a close-lipped grin and shrugged. “I’m going to the Starlite, anyway. You boys have fun.”
Mack scrunched up his face like a little boy’s, then affected a nasal voice. “Oh, the Starlite. Is that your women’s club? Billy told me you ladies go there for some good girdle talk.”
Her hand almost rose up to smack him—she used the other hand to push it down.
“I didn’t say that, babe. I promise!” Billy turned away and stuck out his foot to kick Mack’s work boot. “You’d better quit trying to cause me trouble, or I’ll wallop you!”
With a hoot, Mack twisted his body away, then ground his cigarette into the dirt. “I guess I’d better leave you two lovebirds together to sort things out
!”
Then he left them in a cloud of his smoke, laughing so much that he choked in a series of coughs.
“Hey, babe. You know Mack is a loon.” Billy stroked her arm in apology. “Do you still want to get pizza?”
She shrugged. It was almost time for dinner.
“I guess so.”
On the way to the pizza joint, Billy talked a little about Mack. Once a month Mack would go to Billy’s apartment and the two of them would play poker with Billy’s father. Mack was a talented poker player—he made breathtaking bets. Once he’d even won a cool hundred from Billy’s father.
As they walked, Billy kept trying to slip his arm around Lisa’s waist. But she would pull away, so he started to tickle her in the middle of the sidewalk. She almost fell to her feet with the ridiculousness; she laughed and couldn’t control it. She giggled like a maniac. His jokes and breezy, casual way made her susceptible. A woman with a baby carriage tried to get past them, but Lisa was doubled over and Billy was almost on top of her as she yelled for mercy.
When they arrived at the pizza shop, it was hot and crowded. The doughy smell from the brick ovens was too comfortable. Familiar.
Every time they went out for pizza, he would get three slices and she would get just one. They always sat at one choice booth, right in the corner of the restaurant, the one near the jukebox. Billy would let the gooey cheese drip all over his hands as he took quick, ravenous bites, while she dabbed her mouth with a paper napkin after every greasy nibble.
Billy spoke with his mouth full of food. “So, the plane crash.”
“Yeah.”
“Did you see it?”
“Just the smoke.”
“Do you still want to do the job?”
“It’s my job right now.”
“Well, I’m getting a raise at the site soon,” he said. “And I’ll be making more money, so that’s good.”
She was oh-so-casual. “That’s good.”
“Yeah. The raise starts in two months.”
“Uh-huh.”
His eyes were set right on her as he chomped on his slice. “You gonna keep flying?”
“That’s what I’m doing for now.”
Soon they left the pizza parlor, and Billy went off to meet Mack at the movies. It was dark outside, and Lisa made initial motions to drive back home. But instead she made good on her alibi and headed up to Brooklyn Heights, to the Starlite.
* * *
A tarp was stretched over the broken window, and a man was positioned by the door, straight-backed like a guard.
Lisa observed the entrance from her parking spot, and she waited in the driver’s seat, listening to the radio. She hadn’t checked to see if Elaine would be coming.
She stepped out of her car. Under the streetlights, her heels made dents in the powdery snow.
At the door, the guard wore a poker face.
“Is this, uh, establishment still open?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am. Are you one of Madeline’s friends?”
“Yeah,” Lisa replied, with some hesitation.
He looked her up and down, then opened the door.
She held her breath as she entered the Starlite, alert for its usual noise and excitement—the dancing, singing, laughing. The joking around.
But tonight, everyone sat in neat rows, hands folded on their laps. In the back, there were teetering rows of cots, stacked beyond the edge of a burlap curtain.
She squinted in the dim light to look further.
In front of the crowd stood Elaine, head bent down.
It was dark and melancholy in the Starlite. Something serious must have happened while she was overseas.
25
Madeline
Alone at her shop, Madeline stitched a custom-made ensemble—a detailed, embroidered piece for one of the society ladies.
She had done for Elaine what she could do.
Elaine had joined them for nearly every social club soiree since its inception, along with Madeline’s other customers who had turned into regulars—and friends. She never talked too much about her fiancé, yet her poetry and the faraway look in her eye had said it all.
Madeline knew something about hiding problems, and she understood why Elaine might not have been forthright about her relationship issues. Some things weren’t easy to reveal.
Madeline sat up suddenly, drawing in a deep breath. The rhythmic clatter of the sewing machine had nearly lulled her into an afternoon nap, but she kicked herself awake. She immersed herself in her handiwork as she glided the fabric up and down. It was always smooth and easy when she sewed. Her hands would move of their own accord, and sometimes hours would pass before she noticed the time.
The bells on the shop door rang, and she checked the clock. Diana had arrived early—the dress wouldn’t be ready until five PM.
“I see you’re hard at work!” Diana called over.
Madeline smiled delicately. “Yes, things are coming together! But you’re a little early, dear.”
It was all about the experience.
Diana smiled. “Oh, I know! I came to have a little chat.”
Diana had golden hair and the whitest teeth in Brooklyn. She was the wife of a former councilman.
Madeline spoke through a pin in her mouth as she scrambled to finish her dress. “Sure, I’m always up for a chat!”
Diana’s lips curled in some anxiety. “Okay. I don’t know how much you’ll like this, though, Madeline.” She spoke as she looked down at her heels. “I’ve been debating if I should even be telling you this.”
Madeline’s teeth clenched together on the pin.
She would finish making this dress. She concentrated on the stitches, wrapping her focus in its twisted threads. “Well, I do feel I must know, dear. Please share.” She punctuated her request with a laugh, like it didn’t matter too much.
“It’s just that—well, Fred was talking to Lenny, you know? I mean, he always visits him at the law firm and chats him up for advice. Anyway. I don’t know how to say this, Madeline.” Diana folded her arms across her chest and cleared her throat. “Do you really want me to tell you what he said?”
One more stitch. Madeline yanked it from the machine and looped it by hand. Her frantic assessments of hem height and bodice length had resulted in an astounding creation.
She held the dress up in the air and stared at it.
It was perfect.
“Tell me,” she said.
“Fred told Lenny that you’re stealing money. He said that you still have his bank account number and that you’re taking out cash. He says he drove by your shop and saw that big hole in your window, and he figures that you must need money to get it fixed, so you’re stealing from him little by little. Fred asked Lenny’s advice, because he says he doesn’t want to go to the police about it.”
Madeline would rip the dress she was making in half.
She would pull it apart, seam by seam.
“I’m sure the ladies have told you the truth about Fred by now, dear. Do you honestly believe he would be telling anyone the truth about me?” Madeline controlled her voice as she trembled.
It was his word against her word. Always the same.
“I was positive he wasn’t telling the truth, darling. I actually came here to make you an offer. I’m friends with a girl who writes under a pseudonym for the society pages. I wanted to see if you wanted to do a reveal. Once Fred’s campaign heats up, he’ll probably smear your name in the dirt. I wanted to give you an opportunity to preempt him, darling.” She paused. “What do you think?”
The dress lay on Madeline’s sewing table. She fingered a crease in its fabric, a wrinkle that had formed when she hastily set it down.
Another complication.
It had been perfect for a moment.
The tarp was still draped over her store window. The memorial for Elaine’s beloved had been held under the shadow of its brown ugliness. It was like Fred’s filth—his lies—an overlay that polluted it all.
“Do you want her phone number?”
“How about this: have her call me, at her convenience.”
Madeline wouldn’t call of her own accord; she wouldn’t beg for sympathy through the newspaper pages.
“Absolutely.” Diana gave another huge smile, with gleaming teeth. “I have to run now, darling. I need to pick up some things before I make my way back here for that dress.” She sneaked a peek at the fabric bunched between Madeline’s fingers. “The dress looks fantastic. I can’t wait to wear it, darling.”
“Thank you.” Madeline hid the crease under her index finger. It measured almost the exact width of a newspaper headline.
26
Lisa
Lisa readied herself.
Billy’s parents were at a social function, and she was in his bathroom. She applied some powder to a stubborn pimple, then dabbed her armpits with a damp tissue to make sure they smelled decent.
Billy was in his room, completely naked.
It was very first time she had seen him totally unclothed. She had seen glimpses in the back seat of his car before, but never everything like this.
He had stripped himself down as they were kissing; he’d stepped out of his trousers, unbuttoned his own shirt, and undone her brassiere. At the quick unfastening of that latch, she’d excused herself to the bathroom, where she was practicing the art of extending time, finding more things to do.
There was a draft in the bathroom, entering through the frosted window, which was cracked for ventilation. The air smelled like cologne—that cologne she’d smelled on the airplane seat, the one that Billy and his father both used.
She would need to make a choice.
In eighth grade, her friend’s older sister had had a boyfriend. The friend had reported all the details, telling her about her sister’s first time. “It hurts, but then it’s over pretty quickly,” she said. “The rubber feels strange in there, but you need to wear it so you don’t get pregnant.”
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