by Teresa Toten
(THE SUPREMES)
“YOU’RE GONNA STOP traffic!” Grady lit a fresh cigarette. “You’re beautiful. You could be going to the prom!”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“Never been surer of anything in my life. Miss Zelda did you up fine.” She flicked at an invisible speck on her own outfit. Grady was wearing a shiny black taffeta skirt with a white blouse, all pulled together with a red belt and red high heels.
“And I’ve never seen you look lovelier, Grady.”
She sat on her sofa ever so carefully, so as not to crease the skirt. “I wanted to look especially nice when I meet your young man.”
“Oh Grady.” I felt myself crumple. “He’s not coming in.”
“What?” She looked pained. “Why ever not?”
“I’m meeting him outside at nine sharp.” Seeing the look on her face, I felt guilt nibbling the edges of my pretty new dress. “It’s kind of, well, he’s probably coming in a taxi and he’ll just have it waiting or something. It’s the modern thing, you know?”
“But I’m sober and I haven’t met this guy. You’ve been holding your cards a little too close to your chest on this one, young lady. What are you hiding?”
“Nothing!” But there was something. It’s just that I didn’t know what. And that made me angry. “And it’s not like you’re my mom or Mrs. Hazelton or anything. I don’t need your approval, Grady. You’re just the landlady!” I tried sucking the words back in as soon as they shot out of my mouth, but they had landed on her. Now I was angry for no good reason and ashamed for a pretty good one.
“Just? Just!”
“Grady, oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that, honest I didn’t! I…” I’d insulted her. Worse, I’d hurt her. She was the last person in the world I wanted to hurt. Grady had been nothing but good to me from the moment she opened the door. Weird, yeah, but real good.
“S’okay.” She sniffed. “It’s the teen years. I’ve been reading up on it. Your hormones are acting up. I remember hormones. Vaguely. Get me a drink, kid. There’s a bottle of scotch on the kitchen counter.”
“But you said that—”
“I said I was sober. I didn’t say I wasn’t drinking. Don’t worry, I’m counting ’em.” Counting her drinks was the new thing. I didn’t know how the system was supposed to work, since she kept the numbers top secret. “Three fingers, two ice cubes, chop, chop! And where are you going? I want the address.”
“I don’t know exactly.” Do you pour in the three fingers before or after the two ice cubes? “It’s at a Mr. Marcetti’s penthouse. I had to ask Rachel what that was.” I went to the kitchen to fix her drink. When I came back I twirled for her a couple of extra times. Landlady or not, I did want Grady’s approval. “Should I have bought high heels?” I’d purchased beige Mary Janes to match my off-white stockings, but the shoes only had a tiny kitten heel.
“Kid, you’re perfect, and the shoes are perfect! You’re sixteen, not thirty-six. Now get out of here—it’s almost nine. And remember, next time he’s coming in!”
“Yes, ma’am.” I planted a kiss on her perfectly made-up cheek. “Thank you, Grady.”
“Ah!” She waved her hand. “Get lost. Have the time of your life, you hear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She sighed heavily. “Go!”
Just as I stepped outside, a taxi pulled up. Cassidy jumped out and held the door open for me. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Once we were in the taxi, he stared out the window, seemingly lost in thought. I countered this by not shutting up the whole way to Mr. Marcetti’s. I babbled because I was so nervous and because he wasn’t saying much and…mainly because he didn’t once say that I looked nice.
Grady thought I looked pretty.
Even I thought I looked pretty.
It wasn’t a very long cab ride, but we ended up in a part of the city that I didn’t know. While chattering nonstop, I formulated a plan. I would make Cassidy so proud and pleased with me at his boss’s party that he would find me irresistible, and he would kiss me right then and there, in front of everybody. People would swoon. Genius, right? I was going to be seventeen in a couple of weeks. No way was I turning seventeen without having been kissed, and it would be a showstopper. Tonight would be my magic night, and then I’d write Betty all about it. No more endless pretending and practicing with pillows or the crook of my hand. My first kiss would be spectacular. I would be held and kissed by a handsome man who, let’s face it, probably knew how to kiss a girl. And, despite all his extensive kissing experience, once our lips touched he would have to declare that he was besotted with me, and then…well, things got a little fuzzy after that part.
The point is that your first kiss is practically the most important thing in the world. You remember your first kiss for the rest of your life.
That’s what all the magazines said.
We got into an elevator, and I got a bit overexcited. I’d never been in an elevator, after all. Cassidy wouldn’t let me push the buttons. He didn’t seem annoyed as much as preoccupied. Was he sad? Just as we were about to step off the elevator, he grabbed my arm. It was the first time he had touched me since he came to pick me up.
“Look, Toni, I’ve got a lot of business contacts to talk to tonight, so I’m not going to be by your side every single minute. Mr. Marcetti is real important to me. His guests are real important to me and…”
“I won’t let you down, Cassidy. I promise.”
“Yeah. Look, this is a big-girl party. Be a big girl okay?”
I was nodding so hard that my earrings jangled.
And then Mr. Marcetti’s door opened without us knocking or anything.
Wow! The place looked like something out of a movie. Mr. Marcetti’s penthouse was all supermodern and space-age. Lots of low leather sofas without arms, glass and chrome everywhere and pure-white sculptural tables. There was a long bank of windows. Even from the entrance, you could see the rest of the city spread out before us. Wow. Toronto was at our feet, the whole city! I was too excited to move.
There were lots and lots of people, but the room didn’t feel crowded.
Oh yeah, and everybody was old. Well, mostly. The men were really old, like in their forties or fifties, but they all seemed to have married much younger women. Some were sort of dancing in an area near the bank of windows, some were cuddling and actually kissing on the big sofas, and some were just talking and laughing and drinking. Everybody was smoking.
“Ah, Cassidy and the delightful Toni!” Mr. Marcetti appeared out of nowhere. I almost didn’t recognize him without his sunglasses. “How perfectly charming you look, Toni. A precious angel.” He took my arm. “Come with me. I’d like to introduce you to a particularly important friend of mine. He’s the head of St. Martin’s Hospital. Cassidy, perhaps you could attend to that other matter?”
Wait! A hospital? What a good idea! What a great place to start. Why had none of us thought of that before? Maybe someone there would know what had happened to my mother. This man would at least be able to tell me if that were possible. Mr. Marcetti was so thoughtful. He led me to one of the smaller sofas. I glanced back at Cassidy and flashed him a major smile to assure him that, despite my nerves and pounding heart, I wouldn’t behave like some small-town hick in this fabulous place with all these glamorous people.
Cassidy nodded before he walked away.
He did not smile back.
“Toni, this is, um, John Doe. John, this is Toni. What did I tell you?”
A very large man stood up with some difficulty.
“Your furniture is going to kill me, Marcetti, but your taste”—he looked me up and down—“is exquisite.”
I put out my hand. “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Doe.” He looked flummoxed for a minute and then shook it.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, shall I?” Mr. Marcetti drifted off to his other guests.
“Want a drink, honey?” Mr. Doe snapped his fingers, and a man with a tray bearing cocktails ap
peared out of nowhere. Mr. Doe snatched up a glass, which I recognized as scotch, no ice, four fingers.
“No, thank you, sir, I don’t drink.”
He looked perplexed for a moment, and then he turned back to the waiter. “Scare up a Coke, will you?” He stepped closer to me. “So tell me about yourself, pretty Toni.” Mr. Doe ran his hand down my arm, and I bit down on my instinct to step back. I was proud of myself for that. Instead, I launched into the point-form version of my story. Well, as point form as I get.
“You’re killing me, honey. That’s a real good one!” He kept smiling at all the sad bits, which kind of threw me, but I kept at it to the end, because I was in full motor-mouth mode. “Do you think I might find someone at Toronto General to help me?”
“Sure. 1950?” He shrugged. “Hospitals keep records. I’d go to the supervising nurse in the burn unit. The records are off-limits, but she might be able to track down someone who was there.” He downed his drink and snapped his fingers again. The waiter appeared with another scotch for him and a glass of Coke for me.
He ran his hand down my arm again. Why would he do that? Again, I didn’t pull away. That would be rude, and I had been raised better. “I realize that it’s not your hospital, sir, but may I use your name? Only if I need to, of course.”
“John Doe? Sure, honey, you can throw it around anyway you want. Marcetti should crank up the air-conditioning. It’s hot in here.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Okay, I’ve done something for you, so how about you do something for me?”
“Oh certainly, Mr. Doe.” A Frank Sinatra song came on right after the Supremes singing “Where Did Our Love Go?” More couples got up to dance. Older people really liked Frank Sinatra. Perhaps he wanted to dance.
“Let’s sit. I’d like a smoke.” Mr. Doe reached over to a stainless-steel cigarette box that was on the table. They were all the hand-rolled variety. He lit one, inhaled deeply and wordlessly offered it to me.
Eeewww. It had his spit all over it. I prayed that I hadn’t made a face. “Thank you, sir, but I don’t smoke.”
“You’re definitely killing me, dollface.” He inhaled deeply again. “Sit closer.” He patted a spot that was right beside him.
“Oh look, brownies!” I waved to our waiter, whose silver tray was now laden with delicious-looking chocolaty squares. “I love brownies!”
I thanked the waiter and finished the brownie in three bites. I hadn’t had one since…since the orphanage. The dark, rich flavor flooded me with happiness and hurt at the exact same time. I reached for another, and Mr. Doe put his hand on mine. “My hunch is that that one will more than do you. Marcetti makes them potent.”
Was he worried I was going to get fat?
And then he put his arm around me.
And then I looked around for Cassidy.
And then things got weird.
And then weirder…
“Can’t Buy Me Love”
(THE BEATLES)
MR. DOE WAS perspiring. A lot. In fact, he was pretty much gushing. Sweat stains morphed into ponds on his shirt. I couldn’t look away. He was also emitting a not-so-faint aroma of wet socks and dog fart. For some reason this struck me as hilarious. I started giggling.
“That’s better, honey. How long have you been a party girl?” His forehead was beaded with sweat dots that joined up into delicate rivulets that slid down the sides of his ruddy cheeks. There was just so much happening on him.
“Oh, this is my very first party, Mr. Doe.” The streams ran down his face and into the folds on his neck and then back out again. The sweat hypnotized me, held me in place. I’d never really noticed sweat before. It had a life of its own. He moved in a little closer. “Dance?”
“No sir, I’ve never been to a dance either. Well, of course, the Seven danced all the time. Jumpin’ Joe—Lord, I miss him—anyway, Joe would teach me some moves in the kitchen and then, when it was supposed to be lights out, I’d teach the others, and we’d dance and dance until, sure as shooting, that old bat Miss Webster would somehow get wind of it all and then…well, you know, she wasn’t all bad, I suppose someone had to impose discipline or we would have run riot. I see that now, most of the time I guess, and…” I was vaguely aware that I wasn’t making any sense. Truth was, I wasn’t really paying attention to anything I was saying because Mr. Doe kept inching closer.
What if his sweat got on my dress? Where was Cassidy? Why didn’t they play some Beatles music? “Can’t Buy Me Love” was my new favorite.
Sweaty, sweaty, sweaty.
God.
What was the matter with me? I couldn’t hang on to a single thought. There were so many things to think about. Big things, little things, sweat things. So much to look at. I ogled the dancers, who were still swaying to Frank Sinatra, only now the room was swaying with them. Whoa!
I turned back to Mr. Doe, but he was still a one-man geyser and it was making me nauseous, so I stared at his hands instead. Mistake. What hair Mr. Doe lacked on his head he made up for on his hands. Each fat, moist finger had this little tuft of fur on it. His wedding ring looked like it was cutting off his blood supply. The flesh on his finger spilled out above and below the ring.
Wow, that must hurt.
Laughter and the occasional squeal slid through the Sinatra. I was vaguely aware that the two couples sitting on the sofa opposite us were locked in a tight embrace, hands roaming. Like, in front of everyone and everything. I would have been scandalized, should have been, but it was like someone had thrown a soft, fluffy blanket over me, and, and…where was Cassidy?
Mr. Doe caught me watching the grappling couples. He launched a hairy, sweat-soaked arm around me and drew me closer. “Come here, honey.” He jutted his chins at the embracing couples. “I bet they got you in the mood, huh?”
Huh? What mood? What was he doing? He was sweating all over my dress. Slowly, and much too late, alarm bells started clanging in my head. Oh no. I tried to pull back. Couldn’t. His grip was too strong.
“Mr. Doe, please!”
“Oh cut the act, honey. Marcetti promised me a good time, and I’m ready to collect.”
Mr. Marcetti? I didn’t understand. I searched the room for Cassidy. I had to leave, but the sheer bulk of Mr. Doe had me pinned against the back of the sofa. My head cleared in the space of a heartbeat, making room for the panic to take hold.
“Where is she?”
Who was that? Cassidy?
“Come here, baby.” John Doe took his big, fat, wet hand and grabbed my jaw, turning my face toward his.
No.
“I said, where is she?”
He pulled me in closer. The invisible fluffy blanket was stripped off and I was present. I could feel the breath from his nostrils on my face. He reeked of scotch and decay.
Not like this. Please God, no!
“Toni, you here? Toni!”
He forced my mouth open and put his wet, slippery lips on mine. I almost threw up. NO! His right hand shoved the back of my head into his face so I couldn’t turn away. His left hand found my knee and then my thigh…The horror of what was happening flooded but did not paralyze me. I somehow found my shoe, grabbed it and smashed Mr. John Doe on the back of his head with my kitten heel.
“Ow! What the…?”
“Toni!”
Ethan had somehow appeared at the sofa. Was I hallucinating?
“Get lost, kid!” Mr. Doe snarled.
More kerfuffle. Ethan was here! Ethan! I was giddy with relief.
I popped up and was yanked right back down. Ethan leaned over to Mr. Doe. “Look, bud, she’s a minor and the cops are coming.”
Mr. Doe let go of me like I was infected.
The couple across from us disentangled. “Cops?”
“Yeah.” Ethan turned and yelled, “Hey, everybody, quick, clear out! The cops are coming!”
Instant chaos. The girls shrieked, and the men reached for their ties and shoes before they headed for the door. Mr. Marcetti shouted at everybo
dy to calm down. Then, pointing to Ethan from across the penthouse, he yelled to his guys wearing the sunglasses. “Get him!”
But there was too much confusion, too much shrieking, too many bodies stampeding in the way.
“Toni, over here!” It was Cassidy. My Cassidy, nobody’s Cassidy. What had he done to me? Why? We locked eyes. He looked disheveled, pained. “Now!” He waved us both over. “At the back of the kitchen there’s a service elevator. Let’s go!” He took off for the far end of the penthouse. Ethan grabbed my hand and we followed. I glanced back. Fear and confusion were escalating in the rest of the place. Distraught partygoers were converging on the entrance despite Mr. Marcetti’s men trying to turn them back.
Cassidy led us through the kitchen. We startled a couple of caterers. “To the left!” We veered left to a small back hallway and a couple of doors. “Go through the black door. There’s an elevator to the garage.”
“Cassidy?”
“I’m sorry, Toni, I’m sorry. If it helps, I’m done for here. I’m out. God, Toni, please, I’m…” He reached for me, but Ethan pulled me away.
“Hands off, jerk!”
Cassidy shook his head. “Go!”
The elevator went straight to the garage, but we had to run all around the garage to find the doors and then figure out how to open them. Finally, we broke free. As soon as we got outside, we took off again. I wasn’t doing so great with my one kitten heel, but Ethan never let go of me. We didn’t stop running until we got to Queen’s Park. Just when I thought I’d break in two, Ethan led us to one of the park benches. We both collapsed. It seemed like the longest night of my life, and it was only ten thirty.
What had just happened? How did it happen? I started to shake. Ethan turned to me. “Are you cold?”
“No,” I whispered. “No.”
“Toni, are you okay?”
Did I shrug while I shook? Stupid, stupid girl.
I was gulping down shame in batches so sticky that I couldn’t free the words to thank him. I couldn’t even look at him.
“Toni, say something, please.” His voice was soft, no longer out of breath. “Did he hurt you?”