Danielle opened her mouth, an argumentative look on her face.
“Danielle!” Dominique said, her voice commanding. She took a step forward so that she was in the middle of their line of sight. She met Ron’s eyes with a dignified expression. “I’ll go tomorrow,” she said.
CHAPTER 6
DOMINIQUE tiptoed up the stairs to her rented room, wincing in anticipation of a telltale creak from a floorboard. She was three days past due on the rent and she didn’t have the money to pay the landlady, Mrs. Parsons.
She eased open the door to her room, then closed it silently behind her. She leaned with her back against it, her arms at her sides, palms flat on the surface, in a posture of utter fatigue. Her eyelids dropped and she let her head fall forward. But her feet were throbbing too much for her to remain standing. Taking off her raincoat, Dominique went to the little pine table and chair in the center of the room. She slung the raincoat over the chair’s back and, without stopping, walked to a musty green sofa bed that dominated the cramped room. With a long sigh, she sank into it.
Dominique knew she would be more comfortable if she took off her shoes, but she was afraid to look at the sore on her heel that had been festering for two weeks. It felt damp, so she knew it was oozing. And there was a scratchy, swollen sensation as though her shoe had worn a hole in her nylon and was in direct contact with the wound. She grimaced as she thought of it, but she knew she had to tend to it. It hurt too much to be left alone. Dominique leaned forward and ever so tentatively removed her shoe. For a moment, it stuck to the wound, then suddenly came loose. Dominique yelped as the pain shot up her leg. When it had subsided, she braced herself and looked down at her heel. The sight of it made her gag. It was much worse! The protective bandage had been shoved upward by her shoe so that the wound was completely exposed. Pieces of skin mixed with coagulating blood to form a sticky, infected mess.
Dominique unfastened her garter and slipped the stocking down her leg. As she reached the wound, she cringed and bit her lip. Then, in one motion, she pulled the stocking off, almost crying out with agony. After a few minutes, she removed her other shoe and hobbled over to the only sink in the apartment—the one in the bathroom.
Underneath the sink was a basin in which Dominique soaked her feet each night. Now she filled it with warm water and placed it on the floor. Using the closed toilet seat as a chair, she plunged her feet into the water.
The warmth was soothing, for it was cold in her room. The air outside already had a distinct chill, although it was only October. Dominique knew that her raincoat wouldn’t be warm enough in winter, but she couldn’t afford a wool coat.
After the water in the basin cooled, Dominique hoisted herself up and padded into the other room. It was an all-purpose space, serving as living room, dining room, bedroom, and kitchen. From the closet, she withdrew her hot plate and plugged it in. It was against house rules to have a hot plate, but Dominique had no other option. She couldn’t afford to eat out—could barely afford to eat at all. When she opened her cupboard, the sight of her meager rations depressed her: two cans of beans, a package of dried spaghetti, a can of tomato sauce, and a jar of instant coffee. On the window ledge, Dominique knew, there remained two eggs and a half-pint of milk. She thought she could make the food stretch a week, but after that… what? She had already borrowed far too much from Danielle. Whatever Danielle saved, she gave to her sister, but that didn’t amount to more than a dollar or two each week, even though Ron had finally found a job.
Dominique suppressed tears as she surveyed the near-empty cabinet. It doesn’t do any good to cry. Her stomach rumbled with hunger and she reached for a can of beans.
As she waited for it to heat, she couldn’t stop herself from dwelling on meals she’d had in the past. She had taken so much for granted! Had been so unaware of her good fortune! Her mouth watered as she recalled the teas she and Danielle had enjoyed at the Negresco Hotel in Nice. She closed her eyes and envisioned the terrace overlooking the sparkling aqua Mediterranean Sea. The platters of tiny sandwiches—cucumber, watercress, or smoked salmon. Warm, rich scones with clotted cream and preserves bursting with fruit; miniature éclairs filled with custard, and luscious strawberry tarts.
Dominique was startled from her reminiscence by the sound of the beans boiling. She rushed to turn off the hot plate, then poured half the contents of the can into a dish. Once settled at the table, she ate very slowly—it made the food last longer. When she finished, she was still starving. The rest of the beans were meant for the next day, but Dominique was tempted to wolf them down. If she did, though, nothing would remain by the end of the week. Then what would she do?
If only she could find a job! But people thought that her accent meant she couldn’t read, write, or speak English properly. It wasn’t enough that she excelled at typing and spelling tests—she had to compete with applicants who had no accent. Even her fluency in French and Italian were of no use. There were many bilingual Americans in New York and they had the added advantage of an American accent. It seemed no one wanted someone with a strong foreign accent answering their phone.
It had been so easy to find a job in San Francisco. She didn’t understand why it was so difficult in New York. Not a day passed that she didn’t look. On Sundays, she buried herself in the New York Times employment section. Weekdays, and even Saturdays, she marched from business to business.
In September, she had taken a temporary position in the office of a dress manufacturer, and that had provided some income. But the regular clerk had returned from her honeymoon, and that had been the end for Dominique.
There had also been instances in which she had almost been offered a position, but was asked to supply references. What references? She had walked out on her job in San Francisco. So she put down on applications that she had worked for the Royal Air Force in Egypt, but verifying that was too much trouble for prospective employers.
After dinner, Dominique washed and dried her dishes, then put them away in the cupboard. She went to the green couch at the opposite end of the room and picked up a novel someone had left on the subway. Curling her legs under her, she settled into the corner and tried to read, but the steady roar of traffic from Lexington Avenue distracted her. She closed her eyes and sighed. Her foot was beginning to throb again. Dominique knew it was infected, but she couldn’t afford to go to a doctor. She lay down, shivering, and clamped her eyes shut, a pillow clutched to her chest.
“This can’t go on,” Dominique whispered. Again and again she repeated the phrase, like a chant. Abruptly, she stopped. “I must be going crazy,” she said aloud. That struck her as funny and she started to laugh. The sound was loud in the silence of the desolate little room. She laughed and laughed. She laughed hysterically. Her sides began to hurt, but still she couldn’t stop. Tears streamed down her face, but she kept laughing. And laughing, her mouth in a deformed rictus. Her laughter rose in pitch and volume. It didn’t sound anything like her, and she knew it. She tried to stop, but couldn’t. The sound poured out of her, uncontrollable. She snorted as her inhalations grew deeper. She was having trouble catching her breath. A sliver of fear, like a knife glittering in the dark, stabbed at her. She was beyond reason. She knew it, but she couldn’t help it.
And then, mercifully, a loud banging at the door brought her back to reality. The sounds coming out of Dominique abruptly stopped.
“Hey, what’s going on in there?” Dominique recognized the shrill voice of Mrs. Parsons.
Dominique held her aching sides as she got up from the couch. “Nothing, Mrs. Parsons, I was just listening to a show on the radio.”
“Open up. I need to talk to you,” came the gruff answer.
“Yes, ma’am,” Dominique said. She smoothed her hair and opened the door.
“Rent’s late,” said Mrs. Parsons without preamble. The woman had stringy gray hair, harlequin glasses, and a set of false teeth stained by nicotine.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Parsons. I have a little m
oney I can give you right now, but I can give you all of it on Friday.”
Mrs. Parsons’ eyes narrowed. She placed her hands on her hips. “Look, sister, I rented you this place ’cause you promised to pay your rent on time.”
Dominique was going to point out that she had paid a month’s rent in advance. She opened her mouth to argue, but then thought better of it. Arguing was her natural reaction, but arguing would only antagonize Mrs. Parsons. It was better to be conciliatory. “Yes, I know,” Dominique finally said, “and I’m so grateful to you for that. I haven’t found a job yet, but I’ll be seeing my sister on Friday, and I’m sure she can lend me the rent money.”
Mrs. Parsons gave Dominique a skeptical look. “How much you got now?”
Dominique sighed with relief. The question meant that she had at least a few days’ reprieve. “I can give you half.” That would leave Dominique just enough for the subway to Danielle’s on Friday, plus a little extra lunch money. She had to stop at midday for at least a bowl of soup, or she felt light-headed.
“Well…” said Mrs. Parsons, scanning Dominique from head to toe, “I can tell you got class. You’re just on hard times. I’ll let you stay till Friday, but you got to give me some security.” She looked pointedly at Dominique’s gold watch.
Dominique followed her gaze and winced. She couldn’t possibly give up her watch! She needed it for appointments, to know the time when she woke up in the mornings. Besides, it was surely worth hundreds of dollars. She couldn’t give it to Mrs. Parsons as security. She didn’t trust the old woman.
“Mrs. Parsons,” Dominique pleaded. “I need this watch while I’m looking for a job. But…” She looked down at it again. Something caught her eye. Her wedding band. Dominique grasped the ring and wiggled it off her finger. She held it out to Mrs. Parsons. “I can give you this. It’s platinum,” she said quietly.
Mrs. Parsons took the ring and studied it, a gleam of acquisitiveness in her eye. “Okay…” she said grudgingly, “that’ll have to do. But you’d better have that rent on Friday. You get me?”
Dominique awakened with a leaden, unrelenting feeling of dread. Tomorrow was Friday. She had no money left, no job prospects, and almost no food.
The only thing to look forward to was her weekly visit to Danielle’s. Thankfully, the visits were less strained now that Ronald had found a job. It seemed to lift the tension that had been hanging over the household. At the same time, he made it clear he had not changed his views on Dominique’s desertion of Anton. She wondered if Ronald was subconsciously afraid that Danielle would one day do the same.
Nevertheless, the visits were a welcome respite. Dominique could enjoy the warmth of her sister’s support for a few hours—and have a decent meal.
She put on her robe and headed to the bathroom to wash her face. A knock on the door interrupted her in mid-stride. Mrs. Parsons about the rent again, Dominique thought with a sinking feeling. But it was only the man next door. “Phone call for ya,” he shouted through the closed door.
Dominique stood up, hope lighting her features. Could it be about one of the jobs she’d applied for? She hurried into the hall and picked up the phone.
“Hello?” she breathed into the receiver.
“Dominique, have you seen the newspaper?” Danielle sounded upset.
“No, I—”
Danielle cut her off. “Israel’s invaded Egypt! There’s talk of England and France getting involved. They want the Suez Canal back under their jurisdiction. Dominique”—Danielle’s voice rose frantically—“what’s going to happen to Mother?”
Dominique had the dizzying feeling of catapulting through space. Her only clear thought: something terrible was going to happen to Solange.
“Dominique!” Danielle cried. “Are you there?”
“Yes. I… I don’t know what…” Her mind raced in circles. She felt infuriatingly powerless.
“What can we do?” Danielle moaned. “I’ve sent a wire, but it will take at least until tomorrow to get an answer. And that’s assuming that everything works like it’s supposed to. Which it never does!”
Adrenaline surged through Dominique, every muscle tensed for action. They had to do something more! “Can’t you get through on the phone?” If only Dominique could afford a long distance call….
“I tried! Nothing. You know how the phones are there. They never work even in normal times.” Danielle was close to tears with frustration.
Dominique wracked her brain. There had to be a way to get news. Suddenly, an idea. “Maybe the French embassy could tell us something!”
Danielle pounced on the suggestion. “I hadn’t thought of that! I’ll call them right away. I’ll ring you back when I learn something.”
“If that doesn’t work,” Dominique said, her brain shifting into gear now, “try the British embassy. They can at least give you some information.” The words spilled out of her with urgency.
“What about the Egyptian embassy?” Danielle asked anxiously.
“No! French citizens are their enemies now. It would be dangerous to draw attention to Mother.” She paused. Think. Think. There had to be other avenues. “If the first two don’t work, try the U.S. State Department.”
“All right. This may take all morning. I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” Danielle sounded better now that she had a mission.
“Danielle… I… I can’t wait here. I have to go out to look for a job.” It was agony to think that she would have to be in suspense all day. “Will you call me tonight?”
“Yes, of course.” Danielle was silent for a moment. “Oh, Dominique, I’m worried!” she cried.
Dominique closed her eyes and leaned against the wall. “I am too.”
“Well… I’d better get started,” Danielle said. Dominique heard her stifle a sob. “I love you, Dominique,” she choked.
“I love you, too,” Dominique whispered.
Dominique hung up slowly. She walked back to her room on shaky legs.
Dominique knew she had done badly on her interviews. She had been so preoccupied by the news from Egypt that she’d barely been able to focus on questions put to her. She had interviewed at a real estate company, a bank, and a dime store.
The real estate company and the bank had given her short shrift, maybe because of her accent. Her rejection at the dime store had been for an altogether different reason. The personnel manager, a no-nonsense man in his forties, had coolly assessed her from head to toe, then thrown out the verdict that she looked too “highbrow” for his store.
“My customers wouldn’t feel comfortable asking you for help. Try Saks.”
Now Dominique sat in a Chock Full O’Nuts coffee shop resting her foot and nursing a bowl of soup. As she ate, she pored over the classified ads. She had already responded to most of the job notices for which she was qualified. No matter how many times she studied the page, new ads refused to appear, she reflected with black humor.
She put down the classified section in disgust and picked up the front page. Her eyes went automatically to the article about the Suez Canal. She’d read it so many times that she knew it by heart. Trying to stop herself from compulsively reading it once more, she folded it and put it aside. Instead, she picked up the society page and scanned the pictures of glamorous parties. They reminded her so much of home! She closed her eyes and sank back in her booth. Impossible to remember the good times without thinking of Stephen. It struck her like a blow, her loneliness for him. Had she done the right thing in refusing to marry him? At the moment, it seemed like a huge mistake. She sighed as her memory took her back to the Christmas party when he had proposed to her. Their conversation replayed itself in her mind. Her reasons for refusing him had been sound—she’d done the right thing. But why did it have to hurt so much?
She shook her head impatiently. What good did it do to dwell on the past? There were enough problems to cope with now. She sat up and tried to focus on the newspaper. The front of the society section was devoted to coverag
e of a fashion show organized for charity by the ultra-elegant Saks Fifth Avenue. An ironic snicker escaped her as she recognized the name mentioned by the dime store’s personnel manager a bare half hour before. As she read the article, she noticed that the menu, touted as the last word in stylishness, seemed awfully dull compared to those served in her mother’s home. And the crowd in the photographs was undeniably well dressed, but in a staid sort of way. It occurred to Dominique that anyone attending that party would surely be dazzled by an evening at Solange’s.
Dominique couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Solange. She shook her head. Solange would be all right, she tried to reassure herself. Now it was time to concentrate on looking for a job. She turned back to the newspaper. What had she been thinking about? Oh yes, Solange’s parties.
Solange’s style of entertainment required a lot of hard work, even with a houseful of servants. Just the right atmosphere had to be created with flowers, candlelight, wines, seating, and music. One had to check the work of each person to whom a task was delegated. Solange always said that a large party was like a complex puzzle. If an element was omitted, the whole could be ruined.
Dominique wondered who handled the logistics for events she read about in the newspaper. In Egypt, individuals sponsored charity events; here, it seemed that commercial establishments were largely responsible. She scanned the article. No one was credited with organizing the event. She speculated, therefore, that the store’s staff must have done it.
Abruptly, she folded the newspaper and stared into space. Why can’t I do that! She had helped Solange a thousand times with parties bigger than the one at Saks. Bigger and more extravagant! She was perfectly qualified for that sort of job. Adrenaline pumped through Dominique as she thought of the possibilities. How better to use her languages and her knowledge of protocol? She knew all about hired help and proper food service, the correct height for centerpieces and the intricacies of place settings. She knew which wines went with which foods, the differences among the world’s best caviars, the proper format for engraved invitations. She knew to order soft music for dinner and more energetic tunes for after the meal. She knew about party favors and decorations.
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