Glimmer As You Can

by Danielle Martin

  31

  Lisa

  Lisa shed her cardigan before the walk from her car to the construc- tion site. Springtime had arrived in Brooklyn. She had downed so much tea that she almost jumped around the streets, rabbitlike. The outside air was fresh after the stifling atmosphere of Elaine’s brownstone.

  Billy would be happy to see her for this surprise visit. She wouldn’t have to wait too long—unless he was out on a crane.

  The water had a different feel during the springtime. Boats sluiced by in the distance: pleasure crafts, high yachts and low motorboats.

  Nearer to the site, Mack worked in dusty, baggy pants that drooped from his waist. He hoisted a big bag onto the back of a truck with a loud grunt.

  “Hey there, Mack.” Lisa smiled; Mack was Billy’s friend, after all.

  “Oh, hi.” Mack’s pale eyes strained against his scarlet cheeks as he pushed the gigantic bag to the front of the flatbed. He hopped off the truck and spit a wad on the ground, strutting over to her with one cheek puffed out. “I guess you’re looking for Billy.”

  “Yep. Have you seen him?”

  His face grew redder. “Billy’s pretty busy right now. I think he’s talking to someone.” He stopped in his tracks as his eyes swept down her body, lingering on her chest and arms.

  Lisa felt her waist for her cardigan, but she had left it in the car. She folded her arms over her chest.

  Suddenly, Mack whistled, piercingly loud. Lisa covered her ears as Mack spun to face the other direction. Billy was heading their way in his construction overalls.

  He was joined by his father, who wore a business suit.

  Lisa gulped and took a few steps back. It was her first encounter with Billy’s father since the airplane ride.

  “Mack, just tell Billy I came to say hello.”

  “Hey, wait up—he knows you’re here. He gave me the hand wave when I whistled.” Mack grunted and hoisted up another large bag.

  She stood in place, tongue-tied; then she tried out different faces for Billy’s father as she kicked around some dust:

  A foul stare of disapproval.

  An angry gaze of retribution.

  A neutral look of casual disregard.

  “Hey, babe,” Billy shouted.

  The two of them walked toward her. His father’s clothes were always tightly tailored—impeccably neat—and today was no exception.

  Billy’s father approached Lisa directly, with a firm handshake, followed by a peck on the cheek. “Good to see you.” He smiled. “A fine day. Gorgeous weather.”

  Her facial muscles tensed into another smile. “A nice day.” She reached up to wipe off a drop of saliva he had left behind on her cheek.

  “I’ve been taking Dad for a tour of the yard, introducing him to some guys here. Dad is now Fred Abbott’s campaign manager, so he wants to get a feeling for the constituency and introduce himself to the laborers.” Billy puffed out his chest, a proud son.

  “Fred Abbott?” The Starlite ladies sometimes mentioned him—Fred was Madeline’s ex. She had heard Madeline utter his name only once, in an unexpected blast of expletives, while drinking cocktails.

  Two pieces of scum are better than one. Lisa’s tongue silently formed the words, and she almost giggled out loud at her ridiculous unspoken joke. She smiled, inquiring, “Is Abbott the borough councilman?”

  “He’s been in office for some time now. And he’s done quite well, bringing extra money into Brooklyn.” Billy’s father grinned and cocked his brow upward.

  Lisa turned away to scan for an escape route. “Yep. Well, better be going. I’m starved. Haven’t eaten all afternoon.”

  Billy grabbed her hand to pull her back. “Where are you going? Let me come with you.”

  “I’m just going to grab some pizza.”

  “That sounds great, babe. Hey, Pops—do you want to join us?”

  His father chuckled. “I’m not going to be the third wheel! And I have a few more places to visit this afternoon. Have a great time, kids. Pizza on me!” He stuffed some bills into Billy’s hand and gave him a hearty pat on the back.

  Lisa’s ears turned pink.

  * * *

  The pizza parlor was crowded, swarming with guys from the construction site, and Billy seemed to know each and every one of them. He went around and gave everyone handshakes as Lisa sipped a Coke, alone, at their booth.

  She watched him flit his eyes briefly to a slim blonde girl in the corner.

  Then he slid into the booth next to Lisa and slung his arm around her shoulders. “Five slices, coming right up!”

  “Five slices for us?”

  “Two pieces for you today, babe. Does it feel good to see pizza again? I wonder what sort of food they have in India. Or where did you say you went? Beirut?”

  “Beirut. It’s in Lebanon, far away from India. I didn’t see any pizza there.”

  “Humph.” He slurped down long strings of the hot, melting cheese, then switched topics. “Hey, you wanna catch a flick tonight?”

  “I can’t. I told my friend Elaine I would join her at the Starlite tonight. Remember, she’s that girl whose fiancé passed?”

  “You mean the one who drank himself to death?”

  She gaped at him. “Yes, if you put it like that. She’s still recovering, so I’d like to help cheer her up.”

  “Why don’t you bring her to the movies with us?”

  “I don’t think she’d want to be a third wheel. Besides, Elaine and I already made the plans, and we’re going to the Starlite.”

  A sudden look crossed Billy’s face, as though he had tasted something unpleasant, but it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived. Their conversation shifted to other things: the Mets’ upcoming season, the upgrades he wanted to make to his car.

  Lisa had planned to meet Elaine, so before too long, she gave Billy a good-bye kiss. Some of his work friends noticed and wolf-whistled at them.

  Lisa blushed, exited by herself, and walked back to her car, which was still parked near the bridge construction site.

  At this hour, the sunset cast a fiery orange glint on the metal frame of the incomplete bridge.

  32

  Madeline

  The security plan had reached the next level. The ladies arrived in small clusters, like Madeline had instructed, between seven-thirty and eight PM.

  From her post at the front entrance, Madeline watched the guard screen each visitor before entering.

  “Fabulous to see you, darling!” she sang out upon each woman’s entrance.

  This night would be a return to basics, with sandwiches from the deli and a pile of new books and magazines in the reading and discussion area. The corners of Madeline’s mouth could barely keep from turning upward.

  So many ladies had ventured out, even under the restrictions.

  Things looked different at the Starlite, more like a secluded enclave. A heavy curtain hung from hooks in the ceiling. A dozen extra portable cots revealed themselves in a bumpy outline at the back of the storefront. It would be a big slumber party tonight, once they entered the wee hours of the morning—the biggest one yet.

  She wouldn’t be a pawn in Fred’s game; she would find ways to win it.

  “Elaine! Wonderful to see you, darling! And Lisa, hello! Thank you both for joining us!”

  Elaine seemed much thinner, frail since her fiancé’s passing. Her complexion was always fair; this evening she was distractingly pale. But her black hair was neat, carefully parted to one side. And she had arrived with Lisa, so she was making an effort to stay social.

  “Wonderful to see you too, Madeline.” Elaine’s eyes seemed to glisten with moisture, but she brushed it away, smiling. “Always wonderful to see you. Looking forward to telling you more about my job later.”

  “I can’t wait to hear about it, but I’m on door duty right now, dear. At eight PM, we’re locking up, and then I want every detail.” Madeline took a peek outside the door, past the security guard, and spotted a man across the stree
t, walking with a shopping bag. She leaned out the doorway to scan the sidewalk, but her own security guard nodded her inside.

  When the clock struck eight, she inhaled deeply.

  “No more newcomers, dear,” she instructed the guard, and then she shut the door—hard. The wall vibrated with the intensity of the slam, and the revelers on the dance floor froze their movements, wide-eyed. She laughed it away. “Carry on, ladies!”

  Then she threw off her heels and joined them in her stocking feet, slipping into the rhythms of the music. Cynthia slid to her side and grabbed Madeline’s hand, and they made little box steps that ended in single claps, which only grew in volume.

  * * *

  Breathless from the dancing, Madeline poured herself a spiked cider, and a sip of spice danced across her tongue as she stood behind a side counter for a moment.

  Taking another sip, she glanced over to a display of handmade bucket hats, where Elaine and Gloria were chatting. “Hey! Girls—do the two of you want some cider?”

  Elaine was pale—giving Madeline only a halfhearted smile—but Gloria grabbed her arm and pulled her toward Madeline’s counter.

  Madeline brandished the pitcher of cider with a spark in her eye, and the two of them sat down on two high stools in front of the counter, pushing aside stacks of hand-drawn dress patterns to make room for their feet.

  “So this is just cider?”

  “It’s a special cider, Elaine. You’ll love it.” Madeline held out the pitcher toward Gloria, who accepted a full glass.

  Elaine bit her lip, appearing nervous. “I don’t know—I’ve only been having tepid tea these days—not much more than that.”

  “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll just give you a tiny taste.” Madeline smiled with reassurance, splashing a miniscule amount into the glass on the counter in front of Elaine.

  Gloria playfully clinked her cider cup against Elaine’s. “Delicious, eh?”

  Elaine took another sip, almost in guilt. Her skin assumed a faint glow. “Yes,” she conceded. “Tell us about your job.” Gloria sidled close to Elaine, talking above the hubbub of the social club. “It sounds beyond amazing. I would do anything to work at the Chronicle.”

  Elaine’s lips edged upward. “It’s fast-paced. I stay busy most of the time. It can be high intensity if there’s a lot of breaking news.” She paused. “It’s fine to be a fact-checker, for now.”

  “For now? Are you considering something else?” Madeline asked.

  Elaine looked around, at the women who chatted in tight groups. “I always dreamed of being a reporter.” She gestured to her handbag and squeezed her journal inside a leather pocket. “But there’s not much room for poetry in journalism. And I think there’s maybe … a grand total of three women who work outside of fact-checking.”

  Gloria gave her an encouraging pat on her back. “Well, you could be number four!”

  Elaine seemed in a daze; she didn’t respond at first, and then she laughed, sadly. “That’s right.” She paused, her eyes locked—trancelike—at something in the distance. “How about you? What do you want to do?”

  “Well, I’m trying to break into writing, any way I can. You know, I don’t have a college degree, so nobody’s going to hire me to be a reporter. But I’m making the news bulletin for my apartment building. It’s called The Jacobs Tribune. I made that name up; doesn’t it sound professional? I have a copy here.” Gloria went to her purse and pulled out a carefully folded paper. “It’s not much, but I’m thinking I could make it bigger. I might even do one for my whole block.”

  She handed the thin brochure to Elaine, who read it carefully, then handed it to Madeline to read. The brochure lacked photographs or illustrations, but a quick read revealed agile prose and a subtle sense of humor.

  “I love that headline: ‘New Elevator Uplifting Residents.’ ” She handed it back to Gloria.

  Elaine nodded in agreement. “It’s quite well done.” Her voice emerged stronger than it had in some time. “Save it. It would be perfect for a portfolio.”

  “Portfolio?”

  “Just keep it together with anything else you do. It will impress employers to see examples of your work.”

  “Oh! Thanks for the advice!”

  Gloria beamed at Elaine, ear to ear. Her smile opened up new dimensions of hope, which registered so acutely that Madeline had to look away.

  * * *

  Madeline stared at the tarp over her broken window as the women snoozed intermittently in their cots.

  It was late. Too late.

  She found an empty cot and at last lay down to rest amid the others. In the semidarkness, women whispered to each other as they tossed and turned on their hard cots.

  Nothing was comfortable.

  It might happen again, if men lurked outside. Sharp pieces of glass, hurtling in. They could take down the guard if they needed to.

  Her backed ached as she repositioned herself in dozens of revolutions, but she couldn’t settle comfortably.

  It would be easy to shut it down.

  It would be safer to shut it down.

  It would be more comfortable to shut it down.

  Madeline rotated, over and over, as the rough blanket scratched her skin.

  It was so late at night.

  If the social club ended, she could focus even more on her dressmaking. Put all her stock into sewing and her business.

  It would be easier.

  But then Fred would win.

  He would check her intact window and see it darkened, night upon night.

  It was four AM, cold in the storefront. Chilly air wafted in through the break in the window, beneath the tarp. She would need to secure the tarp to make the room warm. She made her way through rows of half-sleeping women, pulling a bedsheet from an empty cot to stretch over the tarp.

  Back at the window, she tried to tape it, standing on her tiptoes to reach the window frame.

  Through the darkness of the storefront, Harriet approached her, speaking in a sleepy whisper: “Here—let me help.” She stumbled over in a half sleep and held the corner of the sheet. “I can’t sleep, seeing you do this all by yourself.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  The two of them worked quietly. They spread the sheet taut until it stretched fully. The cold air still had an entry point, but at least the cloth blunted the frigid winds.

  Madeline cupped her face in her open palms, still in her dress clothes and jewelry. Her lids refused to close, even though the guard was still outside.

  “Hey, how are you?” Harriet whispered.

  “Fine.”

  “I hope so.” She patted Madeline’s shoulder. “You know, I think it’s a great idea to get a security guard. I’m glad you did this so we could keep coming. I would go insane if I had to spend every night at home.”

  “Yeah? Why?”

  “Frank drives me crazy.”

  “What? What does he do?”

  “He makes me do the deed every day, even if I’m not in the mood. He thinks it’s his right. And sometimes I just need some time away. Like tonight, I told him I was spending the night at my sister’s. That’s where he thinks I am.”

  “What does he do if you try to stop him?”

  “Well, he’s really tall, you know, really big. And the way he stands over me—I just don’t want to try anything. I don’t want to get him mad.” Harriet was small in the corner of the window, hunched over, and her profile made a curved silhouette against the wall. Not more than twenty-two—but aged. “I know that other women are dealing with things like that. Or completely different things. Or maybe they’re all alone and have no one. But whatever the case may be, I think it’s a good place here.”

  “Thanks, my dear.” Madeline gave her a wan smile.

  Harriet looked at Madeline, young and hopeful again. “It is. We need this. It’s a place just for us girls. A place to have fun. Because, you know, we need to have fun in life.”

  Madeline looked out over her store. Most of the wo
men were sleeping, but she heard whispers; others were wide awake as they told each other their secrets.

  They existed in that moment, no matter what would come.

  If she took the Starlite away from them, the ending would be her doing.

  * * *

  It took a couple of days for her to decide for sure.

  Madeline’s fingers ran down long spools of thread, winding and unwinding the notion until the thread lay flat, in perfect circles.

  She was struck with round after round of violent chills, as if a deluge of ice water had been sent through her veins.

  She crouched down onto the floor and huddled into the skirts of her puffy dress.

  Nothing brought comfort.

  Even her decision.

  She cradled the phone receiver with a hand of ice.

  The society-pages reporter was friendly when she answered, almost neighborly. “I heard you might give me a ring. Good to hear from you, Madeline. You’re making the right choice.” She chatted with Madeline like an old friend and congratulated her on her bravery.

  Madeline huddled beneath her skirt. “I’m a little nervous. I don’t know what the retribution will be.”

  She couldn’t stop looking outside, as if another rock would hurtle through straightaway.

  “Nobody’s going to try anything once you’ve made the society pages, darling. Don’t you think it would be a little too obvious?”

  Madeline nodded and fingered the edge of her skirt. Her chest rose and fell quickly. “So, how much do you want me to tell you?”

  “Every single detail.” The reporter coughed. “Hold on, let me get my notepad.”

  Madeline gulped as her throat started to swell. When the reporter returned to the phone, she coughed out some distorted syllables, unable to speak.

  Then she began.

  “It was a slow buildup with Fred …”

  Then she continued.

  She remembered him staying out late a lot, claiming he had to go to functions “with the guys.”

  He was always out. Getting gas for his car. Going to appointments for “aches in the back.” Picking up “stuff” from the store—“more packs of cigarettes.”