by Helen Cox
Boyle placed his left hand on my waist and took my left hand in his right. He pulled me close and guided my body to the mellow beat of the next record.
‘Well, look at you,’ he said with a grin, ‘all dolled up. Finally broken out of that chrysalis you spun for yourself.’
‘A tidy metaphor considering you write for the Chronicle.’ I kept my tone cool and my eyes steady despite how close we were pressed against each other. His aftershave had a strong, musty note that caught at the back of my throat.
‘You can’t still be mad about the article? I got a job to do, you know? Can’t spend my whole life worrying about hurting other people’s feelings. That kinda attitude would see me out on the street.’ Boyle dipped me and looked into my eyes.
‘What do you want?’ I asked, my hair cascading towards the floor.
‘To dance with you.’ I shook my head and laughed in disbelief. ‘And to warn you.’ He pulled me back up into a vertical position and once again drew my body close against his.
‘Warn me about what?’ I asked, my lips tightening.
‘About Jack.’ Boyle moved his face even closer to mine even though I hadn’t thought that was possible. ‘He’s bad news.’
‘This from a man who all but molested me the first time we met.’
‘I may have been a little heavy-handed, I admit. You can be quite –’ I glared at him while he searched for a word ‘– obstinate yourself.’ I rolled my eyes but otherwise didn’t respond. I just stared past him, waiting for the song to end. ‘If I’m such a scoundrel,’ he continued, ‘I can spot another easy enough. That’s my gift. And my curse. I see to the heart of people and I know what I’m talking about. Jack’s not the man you think he is. He’s got secrets.’
‘Everyone’s got secrets.’
‘Even you.’ Boyle looked at me square on.
My shoulders tensed. Was he was just making a point? Or did he actually know something?
‘Well, if I did have any secrets I’m sure they’d be of little interest to you. Waitress Has Secret is a pretty lame headline, even for the Chronicle.’
‘Depends on whether that waitress is dating a budding movie star, and you’ve got ’em alright.’ I fidgeted in his grasp. ‘Like you said, everyone does.’
‘If that’s true, what’s your big secret?’ I asked, trying to distract him from my entire body wilting at the thought of him figuring me out.
‘Oh, finally she’s intrigued.’ He smiled. ‘You wanna know that, you gotta do your homework. Like I do.’ The record came to an end and I tugged my hand away from his, letting it drop to my side. He still had his other arm around my waist. ‘You’ve got to make your own choices but when this is all over, don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
‘When what’s all over? What are you talking about?’
Boyle looked at me in silence for a moment.
‘Jack…’ he began but before he could finish his sentence a heavy hand landed on his shoulder and jostled him away. I turned, and there was Jack, dressed in a brown corduroy suit complete with braces and a waved quiff that could’ve toppled the S.S. Poseidon.
‘What are you doing here?’ Jack snarled at Boyle.
‘Dancing with Esther. Didn’t think you’d mind. Seeing as though there’s nothing going on between the two of you.’ Jack grimaced; his eyes twitched. ‘She’s fair game as far as I’m concerned,’ Boyle added. At this Jack stormed towards him but I stood in his way, shielding the unwanted guest with my arms.
‘Jack no!’ I shouted. I couldn’t see Boyle’s face but I was sure it was fixed in a knowing smirk. Jack was breathing hard and looked from me to Boyle.
‘You’re protecting him? Are you…are you with him?’ The anger pounding in his eyes gave way to suffering.
‘No. I’m protecting you,’ I replied. ‘Tempting as it is, scuffling with him again is only going to create trouble. Don’t let that outfit go to your head. You’re not actually a member of the Rat Pack.’ I was super-logical considering the number of drinks I’d already downed; the shock of seeing Jack so enraged out of nowhere no doubt sobered me up. He continued to look between Boyle and me, deciding what to do. At last, his eyes rested on me. His breathing plateaued.
‘You look…’ He put a hand to my cheek. I took a step towards him.
‘Guess I better shove off,’ said Boyle, his voice coming from somewhere in the periphery. It was as snide as I’d come to expect but there was a noticeable quiver to it after his skirmish with Jack. ‘I’ll be seeing you two soon enough.’ We watched him collect his coat from the doorman Bernie had hired for the evening. My shoulders dropped as he exited the building.
I looked back at Jack and he at me. In a moment his hands were in my hair. Mine, against my will, embraced him. The lines of his suit flattered his muscular shape and I ran my fingers along his back, taking in the full measure of his broad shoulders.
I shook my head at him. ‘You have got to stop solving problems with your fists.’
‘It’s not my usual first port of call. It wasn’t even with him but…’ Jack faltered, and looked at the ground.
‘What? What’s going on between you two?’ I said.
‘It’s…’ He hung his head even lower, took a deep breath then looked up at me once more, a frown weighing heavy on his brow. ‘It’s …’ Out of nowhere came the tap-tapping of a microphone and a piercing squeal. Everyone winced. Most covered their ears.
‘Hello. Hello.’ Bernie’s voice echoed all around. The crowd turned to face him. He stood on a small, makeshift stage we’d fashioned out of upturned milk crates, covered with an old tablecloth. Bernie, who usually roamed around in slack jeans and an over-sized polo shirt, had pulled on a suit for the evening. He was standing straighter than usual. The cut of the light-grey jacket camouflaged his paunch.
‘Thank you all for coming out here tonight to the Starlight Diner,’ he continued. The crowd clapped and hooted. Given Bernie hadn’t said anything of real meaning yet this was a clear sign the room had already had too much to drink. ‘Thank you, thank you. To add to the gusto of tonight’s proceedings the staff of the Starlight Diner will now sing a few songs for your entertainment.’
Jack looked at me. ‘Are you going to sing?’ His prior frown disintegrated. He started to laugh.
‘Well, I didn’t get much choice in the matter.’
He laughed harder. A little too hard, and I glowered. He hadn’t even heard me sing. He didn’t know it’d be a complete disaster. It was, of course, going to be a complete disaster but a bit of faith wouldn’t have gone amiss.
‘First up,’ said Bernie, ‘is our very own Mona Montgomery.’ I clapped and whistled. Jack followed suit trying to straighten his face after his unnecessary outburst. Mona looked a dream in her purple dress. She sang ‘Fever’ by Peggy Lee. Her voice was smooth and deep. She navigated the notes with ease and knew just when to pause before delivering a line. I hated her. How was I supposed to follow this?
‘I’ll…I’ll be right back,’ I said. Jack gave me a reluctant, confused look as I vanished into the crowd.
I headed for the bar – which we’d set up at the counter alongside an honesty box for people to pay for their drinks – there I found Walt clutching a bottle of gin like it was the last thing he had in the world. I grabbed a tumbler from the worktop and shook it at him.
‘Fill her up.’
‘Get your own.’ Walt hugged the gin bottle tighter.
‘Walt,’ I said, half-laughing, half in desperate need of a drink, ‘remember all those times I helped you with your crossword? You owe me.’
Walt digested the logic. His face scrunched up the way it always did when I said something that irked him but he surrendered and filled my glass half full. I took a deep breath and a large gulp. My throat stung. My eyes teared up. But I swallowed and repeated. I shook my body as though warming up for a marathon and looked over at the stage. Mona was coming to the last few lines of her song and the crowd were going wild. Not just the usual Saturday ni
ght wild but Cujo wild. The applause rose to a crescendo. Mona sashayed offstage into Alan’s arms; he picked her up and twirled her round. Bernie’s dumpy silhouette appeared behind them and he lumbered onto the stage.
‘Very good. Very good. And now, the newest member of the Starlight Diner crew, Esther Knight, is going to sing the fifties classic “Dream Lover” by Bobby Darin.’ I took a final deep breath and stepped through the crowd towards the stage. All eyes were on me. People clapped and pointed in my direction as I traversed the diner to mount the small pedestal waiting for me.
The opening chords struck. I tightened my grip on the mic and then I was singing. My voice was cautious at first, over vigilant of the notes I needed to hit. Sensing my wary tone, the audience began to whoop and whistle. A small, unexpected smile came over my lips. By the time I was building up to the first chorus, I’d plucked up the courage to look out at the crowd and was struck by the number of familiar faces. Julie-Ann and her bookshop-owning boyfriend clapped their hands above their heads. Mona and Alan looked up at me, smiling and swaying together. I noticed Angela stood at the back. Still clutching a jacket, betraying the fact she’d just arrived. She gave a sharp whistle in my direction. Lucia, who looked so different without her chequered apron, sat in a long, red satin dress at the bar. She raised a glass to me as I caught her eye. And then there was Jack. His eyes were locked in some stern trance but the traces of a smile at the corners of his mouth told me he was enjoying the show just as much as the rest of the gang.
Revelling in my moment now, Bernie had been right: anyone can sing stuff by Bobby Darin, I unhooked the microphone from its stand. Stepping down from the stage, I strolled through the throng and went to the trouble of singing a couple of lines to those regulars I recognised. By the time I made it to where Jack was standing, he was looking me up and down with a ravenous glimmer in his eyes. After his assumption that watching me sing would be nothing short of hilarious I decided to have a little fun and ran my spare hand along his arms in the most provocative manner I could manage, whilst singing the final verse.
This move had the desired effect. Jack let out a chuckle before looking into my eyes in a way that made it clear he wanted me. I squeezed his chin as the song came to a close and breezed back to the stage to deliver the final few notes.
I took a bow. Bernie hobbled onto the stage. He was up next and was impatient to do his number.
‘Alright. Alright. It’s always the quiet ones.’
I put an arm round him before handing over the microphone and exiting the stage. Mona and Alan were waiting at the bottom of the steps.
‘Quite a performance there, Esther.’ Alan smiled.
‘She’s just full of surprises,’ Mona chipped in.
‘It’s the costume, I think. Makes me feel…like … like I’m somebody else and can do anything.’
‘Probably the liquor, honey,’ Mona giggled. I hung my head on one side.
‘Hey Esther, you little songbird.’ Angela’s hand was on my arm. I turned to see her in a green polka dot wiggle dress. Her hair falling in sultry curls rather than the crimping she usually favoured.
‘Wow…’ I was about to tell Angela how beautiful she looked but my face had already done it for me.
‘You too.’ She smiled.
‘Alright,’ Bernie said, tapping the microphone again for good measure. ‘Without further ado I’m going to give a…a rendition of the classic “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole.’
‘Did you know Bernie could sing?’ I shouted over the din to Mona.
Mona nodded. ‘He’s another one who’s full of surprises. That’s his song. Every year, that’s his song.’
I was just about to ask why Bernie chose that song, when the instrumental began. Bernie’s face came over with an expression I’d never seen from him before. A mixture of wistfulness and sweet remembrance. He opened his mouth, even though it looked as though it pained him to do so, and a surprisingly soulful sound came out. Bernie clenched his eyes shut with the depth of feeling pouring from him. In that moment, I could see how someone could fall in love with Bernie, and I was equally baffled anyone would leave a man who could sing to them like that. All of his bad humour melted away. He was only softness then. Only tenderness.
Out of nowhere, there was a hand on mine that, in a single movement, spun my whole body around. The room rotated and stopped as Jack’s face slid into view. He wrapped his right arm around me and took my spare hand in his. We swayed in time to Bernie’s singing. I leant my head against his chest and inhaled. Taking in that now-familiar hint of bergamot. The hand around my waist pulled me closer. I moved my head to his shoulder, my mouth close to his ear.
‘That was a very rousing performance,’ he half-whispered into mine. I closed my eyes, savouring the feel of his lips so close to my skin. ‘I didn’t know you were such a talented singer.’
I moved my mouth even closer, hoping to have the same effect on him as he’d had on me. ‘Well, there are a lot of things you don’t know about Esther Knight.’
‘Will it always be that way?’ he asked.
I thought about giving a solemn answer but the gin was still working its warm magic through my veins. Just one thought, like an ancient incantation, reverberated all the way through me: you don’t have to be lonely, Esther. Not tonight. I lifted my head to look at him.
‘Esther?’ Jack urged.
‘I don’t know. Take me back to yours tonight and maybe you’ll get to know me a little better.’
Jack started.
I covered my mouth with my hand, betraying the surprise at my own words. What was that? I hadn’t wanted to make love to anyone in years. Looking at Jack though, at his wide shoulders, at the small scar I’d noticed on the left of his forehead, I yearned to make an exception.
A smile inched the corners of Jack’s mouth upwards. Our eyes locked. Both of us, lost in the image of our bodies unclothed. Pressing together. But a second later the smile fell from his lips. His eyes flashed to the ground and he pulled me back into his chest.
‘There’s… there’s no rush,’ he murmured into my ear. I looked down at the red and white lino. That was typical. Just when I’d got the guts to slide things up a gear Jack wanted to play the gentleman. Unless he was unsure about me? That would be understandable. I was unsure about myself.
Keen to avoid the difficulties actually speaking to each other might pose, we just kept on dancing.
Chapter Fifteen
The morning after, I awoke in a bed that wasn’t my own. Sitting bolt upright, I tried to make sense of the unfamiliar surroundings in the dimness. The bed clothes were softer than the ones I was used to. The pillows, plumper. More plentiful. Dark, crimson curtains were still drawn at the windows and the smell of roast beef wafted in from the kitchen. It was the beef that triggered my memory after a heavy night on the juice. The diner was closed the day after the hop. Bernie had predicted everybody would need a day to recuperate and thus, last week, Mona invited me to stay with her in Queens. The idea of waking up in a family home rather than in my box room in Manhattan was enticing in itself, at times that place felt like solitary confinement. But Mona had added the extra incentive of a roast dinner into the bargain so I was quick to take her up on the offer. On my limited budget, meat products were a decided luxury.
My shoulders sagged with the relief of being able to place where I was. I could’ve woken up in someone else’s bed that morning, if Jack had done as I asked and swept me off back to his place. There we would have talked and kissed and made love and embraced until dawn. It would’ve been heaven. He hadn’t seemed too keen on that idea however. And, somewhere deep down, a voice told me I wasn’t deserving of heaven anyway. The voice that reminded me I deserved to pay for my weakness. My cowardice. That was all mine and not Mrs Delaney’s after all.
As a result, Jack and I had parted almost as soon as the music had stopped and the lights went up. Bernie shooed guests out the door. Lucia swept up, ridding the floor of bottles and other
debris. Mona, Alan and I bundled ourselves into a cab. I watched Jack, who surveyed me from the pavement, slide out of view from the back seat. His silhouette watched on as our taxi motored off. I didn’t want to leave him behind, out there in the misty midnight streets of Manhattan, but I had to. Disappointed as I was not to spend the night in his arms it was probably for the best. My heart was too heavy for any man’s shoulders now. Even his.
I sighed, swung my legs out of bed and mooched over to the window. Hugging one of the pillows for comfort, I drew back the curtains. Mona and Alan lived in Long Island City. From their house there was an unobstructed view across the East River to the Manhattan skyline, and drawing back the curtains was like pulling the shroud from a panoramic painting. The sun was already high overhead, beaming down on the city. The whole place sparkled. Silver skyscrapers glinted in the sunshine. The spires of The Chrysler, The Empire State and the Twin Towers all fought for dominance, each stretching as hard as they could towards a thin layer of cloud.
Looking out at it, gleaming, glistening, shimmering, New York was once again the city I’d dreamt of before I came to live there. The city I’d seen in countless films. That irrepressible metropolis. I sighed, leant on the windowsill, and rested my chin in my hands. She wasn’t perfect, I knew that. From across the river, you couldn’t hear the angry cabbies yelling out their car windows. Or the horns blaring at pedestrians running across roads at the precise moment they were most likely to be mown down by oncoming traffic. The fragrance of burnt pretzels with base notes of wet garbage festering in the street couldn’t penetrate from this distance and over here, there was a much lower chance of seeing something dark darting across the floor out of the corner of your eye. The thing you always hoped was a spider or even a woodlouse but knew, in your heart, was a cockroach. No, she wasn’t perfect. For all her unsavoury infestations, however, I’d come to love her.
A knock sounded at the door.
‘Esther?’ It was Mona’s voice. ‘You up?’
‘Just about.’ I threw the pillow back on the bed and stretched towards the ceiling. ‘What time is it?’