Last Night at the Blue Angel: A Novel

by Rebecca Rotert

Hobbling down the stairs, I thought: There’s no way I can get through the whole night in this getup. I felt like my body would explode out of the dress and shoes at any moment.

  We walked into the club, which was empty except for a lone man sitting at a table and David, who was behind the bar. He took his gun out of his pants and tucked it under the bar before noticing us.

  Elaine said to me, You’ve got to stand like there’s a rope attached to the top of your head and it’s pulling. That’s how you walk.

  I straightened my body as much as I could, and the taller I got, the easier the dress was on me. David came out from behind the bar. I made a face that I hoped said, What do you want?

  I’ll be goddamned, he said.

  I stared at him. In heels, I could nearly look him in the eyes.

  Put your tongue back and sit down, said Elaine. We don’t need you bothering us.

  He joined the man at the table and Elaine followed him, saying, And let’s try to remember ourselves, shall we?

  Elaine showed me the whole system, described how Caroline worked the room, how to be efficient, how to deal with this sort and that sort. It didn’t sound so different from managing my siblings—everyone wanting something different, fighting for your attention. Tom, the barkeep with the round face, said not to worry.

  It was easy at first. I smiled, took orders, told the orders to Tom, delivered the drinks, trying to bend in a way that would keep the dress from splitting. I never knew a dress could give orders to a body, make me move like a whole different person, and my breasts were so out there that I could see them in my peripheral vision. I even looked right down at them once to see if I was imagining it. All night I looked forward to going upstairs and unhinging myself like a jack-in-the-box.

  There were Negro folks and white folks in the club. Talking to one another and mingling like the world outside wasn’t cut clean in two. David visited with everyone and every few minutes, all night long, glanced at the door.

  Finally a short man, Negro with light skin, strolled in and looked around. David wandered over to him and they stood side by side, chatting, surveying the room like it was the High Plains. Eventually David handed him an envelope and the man left.

  He caught me watching and approached me.

  Naomi, I didn’t say earlier because, well, you took me by surprise. But, you’re beautiful. I mean, you look beautiful.

  I looked him in the eyes. Well, if you didn’t find me beautiful before, you shouldn’t now. It’s all make-believe, I said, tugging at my skirt.

  I did, he said.

  What?

  Find you beautiful before.

  I tried to manage my face, to hold back whatever it was that made my cheeks twitch.

  A man at a table raised his empty glass and jiggled the ice in it.

  Excuse me, I said, and pretended to not notice my skirt brushing David’s body as I passed him.

  The club filled and I ran myself ragged trying to take care of everybody. There was a man at the bar holding something in his arms, but I was too busy to be concerned. Then I came close to him to drop off a tray of glasses, and when he turned to look at me, I recognized him as the man who drove me to the club. It was my bag in his arms. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe.

  You work here? he asked me.

  I unloaded the glasses from my tray. He hadn’t recognized me. My arms felt like they were filled with ice.

  You know a girl by the name of Naomi? he continued.

  I asked Tom for three gin and tonics.

  Well, he said, this belongs to her. He set my bag on the bar and put his hand on it.

  Hold on, I’ll go get her, I said.

  Much obliged, he said, and then turned in his seat a little so he could see the stage.

  I walked quickly along the bar and around it. Tom was at the other end talking to a girl, so, at first, he didn’t notice when I pulled out David’s gun and pointed it at the man’s head.

  Get the fuck out and don’t come back, I said.

  The girl talking to Tom gasped and he rushed to me, saying, What the hell, Naomi? And then David ran to the bar as the man scooted out the front door. I put the gun back and brushed off my skirt where it had gotten wet from the ice bin.

  I picked up my bag. Mind if I leave this back here? I said to Tom, tossing my bag on the floor beside a box of wine and grabbing my tray.

  She’s from the Wild West, this one, David announced. She gets homesick, and the people laughed as I took the gin and tonics to a table by the stage.

  When the band started warming up, there was a sudden eruption of applause, the sound of folks shifting their chairs for a better view.

  I looked around for Elaine, letting my eyes land on her and sink into her as she walked up the three little stairs, holding her skirt and moving her hips demurely back and forth as she did. I put all my attention on her until my heart settled down.

  Let’s not waste any more of my time, she said into the mike, provoking whistles and hollers from the crowd. After a few measures, she opened her hands and her mouth and there she was, Elaine in her glory. I sat down in an empty chair by the bar and everything but her fell away. I traced her notes inside my chest and throat, imagined exactly where the sounds were formed and pushed and held. In that moment, I knew that I was going to do that someday. No question in my mind. I thought, If Mr. Miller’s dirty money is still in my bag, I will buy my own damn dress. I will wear my own dress on my own stage. Mark my words.

  CHAPTER 28

  I LAY ON MY back on the couch that night and arranged the flat pillow just so under my neck in order to preserve my hair. The bones in my feet ached, my back and arms, too, even my face. I wondered where David was and couldn’t sleep. There was little noise on the street except for a dog now and then, or a horn, and I was so happy to be alone for once. I slid my hand under my slip and touched myself. My head flooded with people, with the memories of anyone who’d ever touched me. Ever. David combing my hair, Laura’s pale weight, Elaine turning me this way and that, handling me. I made myself come quickly, it had been so long with so much piling up.

  I drifted off listening for the bell on the downstairs door and woke to the sound of a body falling on the stairs, and jumped to my feet. I looked around for something to use as a weapon, and then grabbed a plate, holding it in the air as David stumbled through the door. He had trouble climbing to his feet.

  Don’t plate me, whatever you do. Please don’t plate me, he said, laughing and coughing, wiping some spit and blood from his mouth. I helped him to his feet. He smelled of booze and maybe urine.

  If you’re gonna pick a fight with your girl’s boyfriend and you’re not afraid because you’re heavy, he said, miming placing a gun in his waistband, you should be CERtain you’ve actually got your piece.

  It’s under the bar, I said, trying to lift him to his feet.

  I remembered that. Round about the time the fucker finished beating me and took a piss on me. In front of my girl. In front of Caroline. Fuck, he said, trying to get up.

  I ran a bath and helped him to the bathroom. He steadied himself on the sink while I unbuttoned his shirt. My fingers touched his chest. I slid his arms out of the sleeves. His eyes were closed as I unfastened his belt and pants, and they dropped to the floor. I slid off his shorts without looking and helped him into the tub. His whole suit sat in a pile on the floor, so I gathered it in my arms and began to leave.

  Naomi, he said. Don’t let me drown.

  I won’t.

  Look at you. You’re a woman. It happens so fast, he said. Doesn’t it, doll?

  I nodded.

  He shut his eyes, leaning his head against the back of the tub.

  I tried to leave again but his voice stopped me. Can you just set here with me for a while?

  I closed the toilet lid and sat on it with my back straight, holding his suit on my lap and staring at the door. I wanted to look at his body but I wouldn’t let myself.

  I have an idea, he said.

&nbs
p; What’s that?

  Tomorrow we just start fresh.

  Fine.

  Got any ideas about that? he asked.

  I’d like to buy a dress.

  All right, then, he said. Tomorrow we go to the dress shop. Good. Tomorrow we buy you a dress. And I’m going to win a game. That’s what I’m gonna do.

  I have my own money.

  Excellent, he said, drifting off.

  He was way too tall for that tub. I looked at his penis. I’d never seen a grown man’s penis before. It reminded me of an animal, something just born. It seemed to be made of entirely different material than the rest of him, which was solid, rough, covered in dark curly hair.

  When he woke up and lifted his head, he suddenly seemed more sober. It’s late, he said, looking over at me. I put a folded towel on the edge of the tub and went back to the couch.

  He walked to the bedroom and shut the door behind him. I smelled him smoking and told myself to lie still. The cords connecting us were getting stronger. They stretched all the way through the walls now. I ached in my skin. Stay, Naomi, I told myself. Try to stay.

  I started a letter to Laura, told her I was with her brother, told her that he reminds me of her—his easy smile and laugh, the way everyone likes him. Except he doesn’t seem like the type to walk away. In fact, I wrote, he’s willing to fight for somebody he loves, but I crossed out all of these sentences and put the notepad back under the davenport.

  I wrote to Sister instead: Kansas City is swell. I miss you and wonder if you are all right there at the Mount. I hope you did not get fired. Can sisters get fired? I am sorry for making such a mess of things. I truly am. Are they giving you enough to eat? I don’t like to think of you in that horrible, little room. Maybe I can come there. Would they allow me to come back?

  I am working at David’s club. I have to ask you something. I feel love for David. I also often feel I could love Elaine, a singer who works here. And none of this takes away from my love for Laura, even though she’s finished with me. Do not worry. I am keeping to myself. But I feel there is something terribly wrong with me. About love, that is. I think I could divide my love over and over and still have so much left. I feel I am made wrong where love is concerned and it sits inside me, this worry, like I ate something bad.

  The only relief I feel is to think of your face. Because you know me. This is the only time I do not feel like someone capable of all sorts of destruction.

  Write soon. Please tell me what exactly I can do about this.

  PART FIVE

  My Foolish Heart

  Sophia

  CHAPTER 29

  CHICAGO, 1965

  MARGARET IS NOT the only lady who sleeps over. There are others. But David stops getting mad. Mother watches him like she’s waiting for him to burst out and yell at her, but he never does.

  How come you don’t get mad? I finally ask him when Mother is in another room.

  It’s not her fault, he says. She’s just rebelling. It’s okay.

  He’s studying a ledger book that is full of numbers, making little notes and marks.

  I understand her, you see, he says. She’s afraid of being trapped. Pretty soon she’ll settle down.

  She’s never going to be normal, I tell him.

  We’ll see, he says.

  Mother walks past the kitchen like a nervous bird, looking for something she lost, and pokes her head in. Kitten, are you coming to my fitting with me?

  I look at David, who is whisking something in a bowl.

  I would very much like your opinion on this dress, she says.

  Okay, I say.

  This will be ready when you come back, says David.

  Mother looks at his back like she doesn’t understand something. Fine, she says.

  Hilda is taking in some of Mother’s dresses.

  Miss Hilda? I say.

  Yes, dziecinka.

  Have you ever made clothes for babies who are joined together?

  She looks at Mother and turns her palms to the ceiling. What is this question? she asks.

  Or people with growths? Or hats for those people with really, really giant heads?

  Darling, says Mother, Hilda is trying to concentrate. Let’s ask her questions later.

  Hilda scowls at me and shakes her head. She’s not a normal child, she says, trying to be quiet.

  She’s not normal, says Mother. I look at her, wondering if I’ve heard her right. She’s exceptional. Like her mother.

  Hilda shakes her head. Turn around now, angel, she says gently. She is being very kind to Mother today. I don’t know why.

  You have to eat. I know you. Your black moods, says Hilda.

  I need to work harder, Mother says. Or for my luck to change.

  How much more luck do you need? says Hilda. You have beauty, you have lovely strange little child, you have good job.

  I want to be known. I have to be known. She touches Hilda’s cheek. Do you hear me?

  Relax your face, says Hilda. You’re getting wrinkles thinking like this, and too skinny. You want your piersi to become two little sacs? She points at Mother’s breasts with her piece of chalk.

  I would like shoes to match. What do you think of that?

  It is wonderful idea, says Hilda. Perfect.

  Where are we going? I ask Mother when we leave.

  To look in on the girls. Should we bring them something? she asks.

  I nod.

  We buy magazines at a small bookstore. Vogue for Rita and National Geographic for Sister. I hold them. There is a man on Sister’s magazine with black fabric wrapped around his head and the bottom half of his face. He looks like the Aladdin at Riverview Park but he’s a real man. I stare at him while we walk.

  Please watch where you’re going, kitten, snaps Mother. She moves like a small animal today: quick, nervous.

  I tuck the magazines under my arm and watch where I’m going.

  When we arrive, Rita and Sister’s apartment calms me down. The scarves on the lamps, tapestries, stacks of books, plants, plants, plants. I feel like I can breathe there because everything is kind of a mess.

  Rita sits me down at her vanity, looking at me in the mirror. Just have fun, she says. A girl should be allowed to experiment. Then she goes into the kitchen to talk to Mother and Sister.

  I lean in close to the mirror and put on some lipstick but I look like a clown, so I wipe it off. The women are keeping their voices down and for some reason I don’t feel like spying on them. I guess I don’t really want to know, but then I hear Mother say, This is the ONLY thing I know how to do!

  I walk into the kitchen to listen.

  We were just discussing your party! says Mother.

  No, you weren’t.

  Sister looks at Mother and shakes her head.

  Rita is going to make a cake! Mother says.

  Have you lost your mind? Rita asks her, then turns to me. I have no such inclinations, my darling. I will BUY you a cake. Now, what kind would you like?

  They all look at me. I don’t care, I say. No one will come.

  Sister looks at me with concern. We’ll all be there, Sophia.

  But not kids, I tell her. Not Elizabeth.

  I’m working on that, Mother says. She tries to take my hand on the way home but I move away from her. We walk faster. What were all those questions back there? At Hilda’s? About deformed children? she snaps.

  Just curious.

  But why? Why are these things in your head?

  I don’t know.

  Mother looks perplexed.

  You’re not the only thing in my life, I tell her.

  She raises an eyebrow at me.

  You don’t tell me everything, I add.

  Mother walks on, looking straight ahead. Sometimes, for some reason, she listens to me. When we get near the park she asks if I would like to sit with her for a little bit. We find a bench and sit quietly for a few minutes, watching the people go by.

  This is nice, isn’t it? she says.
/>   I nod.

  It’s not easy for me to appreciate the little things in life, she says. It never has been.

  She presses her palms against her lap and takes a deep breath. The thing is, kitten, Big Doug. She looks at me. Well, I’m just not pulling in the kind of crowds he needs. And, I seem to be on a downswing. They’re looking for someone new. Modern. She smiles at me, but I can tell she’s sad and maybe even afraid.

  Then what? I ask.

  He’s going to let me go.

  She watches a man and his very small dog move briskly down the walk and stares at him like she knows him.

  What will we do?

  I try to imagine not performing, kitten. Just leaving it all behind and getting a nice little job somewhere. Maybe at the Merchandise Mart. Settling down.

  With David?

  Maybe.

  I know he’s my dad.

  She takes a deep breath. The sun moves behind a building and we can feel its sudden absence. We’re both looking up now as if it might change its mind and come back out. Do you have any questions about that?

  How come you didn’t stay with him?

  I chose to come to Chicago. I chose my career. Some women do, she says. It’s not unheard of. And I kept you, I did that at least. I didn’t get rid of you. She stops suddenly.

  Get rid of me?

  She looks at me like she has so many things to say but nothing comes out. She finally just says, Oh, darling, it’s been a long day. Let’s go home.

  CHAPTER 30

  JIM IS SITTING in the lobby reading a paper when we get home. He stands and hustles toward us when we enter.

  Boy, have I got news, he says.

  Is that so? Mother says.

  I talked to an editor from Look magazine today and he wants to do a whole story on Chicago.

  A fellow admirer of buildings, says Mother.

  Actually, he was very interested in the pictures of you, of the scene here.

  We have a scene? says Mother.

  It’s not clear just what he has in mind but he’s interested, that’s for sure.

  Whatever I can do to help. I have always wanted to be in magazines, she says, a bit of breathlessness in her voice, posing for someone I can’t see.