Last Night at the Blue Angel: A Novel

by Rebecca Rotert

  This could be big, says Jim, for both of us.

  Well, I need my luck to turn. We make a good team, Jimmy.

  She puts her hands on his face and he stands there letting her like he’s stuck in time.

  I’ve got my work cut out for me, he says, breaking the spell. I must have six rolls to process of you alone.

  No bad pictures, says Mother. You know the rules.

  Jim shrugs and flips through the little notepad he keeps. I can’t make any promises, doll.

  I mean it, Jim.

  Me, too, he says, tucking his notebook back in his pocket and grabbing my shoulder. I’m going to shoot the Stock Exchange now. You wanna come? he asks me. I think you should. It’s not going to be standing much longer. Time is running out.

  Go ahead, says Mother. Then she says, Hey, Jimmy. I miss you. I wish you’d come around more. He squints behind his glasses like what she’s saying hurts.

  When we start walking to his car, Jim says, I hear someone’s going to have a fancy birthday party.

  It’s no big deal, I tell him.

  It’s a big deal to turn eleven. Although . . .

  What? I ask.

  I wouldn’t be eleven again for all the tea in China.

  I lean Jim’s tripod against my other shoulder and think I must look like a toy soldier.

  How’s it going at home? With David and all, he asks.

  I can’t really tell, I say. He’s in love with Mother.

  I’m sure, says Jim, scratching his mustache. And she loves him?

  She acts like she does.

  Does that mean she does?

  How am I supposed to know? I say.

  I don’t know, says Jim.

  Are you coming to the party?

  Are you kidding me? I wouldn’t miss it for the world.

  We stop in front of the building. I look up and try to count the floors, but I lose track. There is a crane parked in the street and a ball hanging from it, which is almost as big as Jim’s car. All the entrances are blocked.

  You want to go in there? I ask.

  Do you know who did this one?

  I have no idea. Just let me think.

  He’s my favorite, says Jim.

  I know this. Jim gave me a sentence for remembering. Try not to sully the van, whatever that means.

  Sullivan.

  You’re so smart, he says.

  Jim turns his back to the building and watches the street, then all of a sudden says, Follow me. Quick.

  He slides open a small panel covering an open space in the wall and we climb in. It’s dark and dirty and the floor is covered with piles of stone, glass, and wire, piles much taller than I. But the railings and columns are beautiful, smooth, and black with very small engravings all over. I try to get the dust out of all the small places with my fingers.

  We climb the stairs, up and up, until my legs burn. When we can’t go any farther, we step into a room with an open place in the ceiling. Wires and beams hang, some of them move in the wind.

  I don’t want to be here, I tell Jim. All the other buildings we’ve been in feel like they’d stand up through anything—storms, wind, bombs. But not this one. This one feels loose.

  A few shots and we’re out, he says.

  Something falls. I jump and knock over the tripod.

  It’s okay, says Jim. I wasn’t screwed in yet.

  Can’t you just hold your camera? I say, watching him slowly turn the screw into the bottom of his camera.

  It’s too dark in here, he says. I’ll be fast.

  I think I hear something move, but when I look at Jim, he doesn’t seem to have heard it. There’s so much dust in the air I can push my hand through it. I want to leave, I want to be home in my room on the floor with my notebook. This is what it will look like, I think, after the bomb falls. Everything will be like this.

  I look up at a hole in the ceiling. Through it I can see the clouds fly by so fast, unbelievably fast. It makes me feel like I’m spinning and I start to run. I’ve got to get out. As I fly down the stairs, my hands collecting dust from the rail, I hear Jim yell, I’m right behind you, kid.

  When we get out Jim sets down his gear and hugs me.

  I’m so sorry, he says. I didn’t mean to scare you.

  I know.

  She’s just so beautiful, though, isn’t she?

  I nod.

  I wanted you to see it before she’s gone.

  I thought it was going to fall on us, I say, and then I start crying.

  Oh, doll, she’s been standing here nearly a hundred years. She’s not going down without a fight.

  I put my hands in my pockets and can taste the dust in my mouth.

  We’re okay, he says. We’re okay, and we head back home.

  CHAPTER 31

  THE NEXT MORNING, David wakes me up so early it feels like the middle of the night. Right away I think something is wrong.

  Is she okay? I ask him as soon as I sit up.

  David shakes his head no and waves his hand. We have to run an errand. Top secret.

  I climb out of bed and stand in front of him. You have to leave so I can change, I tell him.

  Yeah, right, he says as he goes into the hallway. I close the door behind him and wish I were back in bed.

  When we get in his car, there’s dew on the windshield. It’s chilly and nobody is out on the streets except for some trucks.

  Thanks for coming, he says. I needed a sidekick this morning.

  I cross my arms and look out the window.

  We stop in front of a small florist shop. A thin man in a white apron stands in the door holding a cigarette with one hand and rubbing his eyebrows with the other.

  They shake hands and we follow him inside. He gives us several large trash bags that weigh almost nothing. David fishes some cash out of his pocket and the thin man is clearly happy with how much is there.

  Pleasure doing business, says the man. David tips his hat and we throw the bags in the backseat. As we drive, a pale, sweet smell fills the car. I take deep breaths through my nose with my eyes closed, and think I can almost feel the smell behind my eyes.

  David sees me and laughs. I look at him. Pretty swell, huh? he says.

  I nod.

  He pulls over by a small park not too far from the hotel and turns off the engine. I say, Wait.

  Leaning back, he rests his hands on his thighs. He has such big hands, kind of hairy, and the cuffs of his shirts are always perfectly white. I wonder if he knows the first thing about surviving a bomb.

  Finally he says, What we waiting for?

  I don’t want to leave this smell, I tell him.

  Let me see, says David, closing his eyes. I hear him take a deep long breath.

  We sit there smelling the air for a few minutes, and once I feel like I’ve memorized the smell, like I’ll never ever forget it, I tell David, Okay, I’m ready now.

  We get out of the car, he grabs a bag, and I do the same. There is a bench near a cluster of trees where Mother likes to sit sometimes and I follow David to it.

  He opens up his bag and turns it over, dumping flower petals all over the ground and the bench. They are pink and red and white and some yellow. I open my bag and scoop the petals out with my hand, feeling them, feeling how I can hardly feel them they’re so soft and light. Sticking my head down into the bag, I take a very long breath.

  Enough already, he says. Just dump her.

  I turn the bag over and the petals fall, some of them lifting up on the wind to drop here and there.

  What’s this all about? I ask.

  What’s this all about, says David. You sound like Jim. You’re a little Jim.

  So what’s it all about? I ask, mad that he’s talking about Jim like he knows him.

  Cool your jets, Jim, he says. You’ll see soon enough.

  You think I’m supposed to be all excited about you because you’re my dad. I don’t have to get excited if I don’t want.

  David stops and kneels down in front
of me. I know. You’re absolutely right. But you gotta give me a shot. Give me a break, here, kid.

  And if you think you can get her to love you, you’re stupid. I take a deep breath then. I feel like I can’t stop myself.

  And? he says.

  That’s all.

  He reaches out his hand for me to take it. I don’t.

  I want something better. For all of us, he says, looking around. This is no place for you. Out in the suburbs, they got swimming pools, places to ride your bike.

  I don’t have a bike, I say.

  A little wind kicks up. We both look over the petals. They stir a little and fall, not far from where they were.

  We gotta get back. He puts his hand out again. This time I take it because now I feel a little sorry for him.

  When we get back home, we stop at the front desk and Sal looks like he’s been standing there all night.

  I’ll take that package now, says David.

  Yes, sir, Sal says. He disappears and returns carrying a large wrapped box with a seal that says, “Evans.”

  Thank you, says David.

  Good luck.

  David looks at him and wrinkles his forehead like he’s missed something.

  We slip quietly into the apartment. I put my nightgown back on and get in bed, but I can’t fall asleep. Instead, I lie there, listen, and wait.

  Finally I hear Mother in the kitchen, humming like she does, like there’s a song running in her head. Every now and then a note accidently escapes. I lie there on my back trying to figure out what song it is. It’s like the word game at school where Sister gives us one or two letters and we have to guess the rest.

  I tiptoe into the kitchen and watch her fill the percolator. She sways a little bit, her long gown moving back and forth like it’s trying to sweep the floor. David comes down the hall with the box. Mother whips around and looks at us, perplexed.

  What on earth, she says.

  Pull up a seat, he says.

  She lowers herself into a kitchen chair and crosses her arms. David presents the big box to her. The ribbon pops off easily as she wiggles the lid loose, gently tugging the tissue paper apart, her mouth opening as she does.

  Good heavens, she says, and David smiles.

  She stands so she can lift the coat from its box and it rises like the ghost of an animal, a bear maybe, something large and dark and fierce. I take a few steps back so that it doesn’t touch me.

  David, it’s exquisite, she says, stroking it like it’s alive.

  Try it on, he says, taking the coat and opening it for her.

  She tries to put her arm in but the sleeves of her robe are too voluminous, so she backs up and unties it, saying, Nobody look.

  Underneath her robe is a nightgown sheer enough to show her nipples and the shape of her legs. I look away. She puts on the coat and hugs it around her, turning the collar up around her face.

  It feels delicious.

  Let’s take her for a spin, says David.

  What are you talking about? Mother asks him, putting her arms around his neck, the coat opening as if to let him in.

  I don’t know. Let’s go for a walk, see if it works.

  Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t even had my coffee.

  David crouches in front of the low cupboard and grabs a green thermos. I’ll take care of that while you get dressed.

  Mother smiles at him like he’s telling a great story and does as she’s told.

  You, too, he says, and I go to my room.

  As we walk toward the park, David carries the thermos and mugs and Mother walks like the coat is perched on her, like it might fly off. We pick up a little bag of pastries I can’t wait to eat. I look at Mother and at David and everyone seems happy. I want to be happy but there’s this hole in my stomach, a jittery thing around my heart.

  When we get in the park, I can feel David’s excitement, the difficulty he has walking slow, like he just wants to run as fast as he can to the petals, to everything finally being okay, to the future.

  We approach the clearing and Mother notices the ground, walking a bit ahead of us to investigate. She walks faster now and looks back, then she waves for us to catch up and we are all there in the petals, walking in them, them moving and lifting around us with the wind.

  David puts the coffee, cups, and pastries on the bench, and says to Mother, Sit down. Then he kneels down in front and rests his forearms on her legs, squeezing her thighs with his hands.

  What are you doing? she says.

  He pulls a ring box out of his coat pocket and holds it in front of her, taking a deep breath.

  Naomi Hill. I’ve known you since you was just a skinny troublemaker and I’m the only one who knows you like that. I’d like you to marry me. Because nobody but me can put up with your shenanigans.

  Mother is shaking her head, putting her hand in front of her mouth, and maybe her eyes are tearing up from happiness or from fear, I can’t tell. But the wind blows and the petals swirl and the hairs on her new coat lift and drop, lift and drop.

  He puts the ring on her and she stares at it, watches it like it’s going to start talking.

  Let’s be a family, a proper family, he says. He waves me to him and grabs me close so that we’re both facing Mother, like we’re both asking her. I’ve wanted to have a normal family all my life and now that it’s here, I don’t want it. At all. I just stand there silent and wish he’d let go of me.

  It’s a swell idea, she says, putting her arms around us, the fur touching my mouth. I turn my head from it.

  Is that a yes? says David.

  Yes! Yes, why not! she says, with the littlest bit of stage voice, but not enough for David to hear.

  David is so happy he jumps to his feet and into the air, hugging me and Mother, saying, It’s just the thing. I’m sure of it. It’s just the thing we need, doll. To make it all right.

  He reaches his hand to her, she takes it, and for a moment they look like a photograph until the wind gusts and the petals blow away and Mother takes her hand back, to close the coat around her, to protect herself.

  CHAPTER 32

  RITA BUYS ME a dress for my birthday party. It is long with many colors, like a quilt, like a gypsy, she says. The party is held in Rita’s office, in the back of a club on Division where she works. Its walls are lined floor to ceiling with shelves of wine bottles—all shapes and sizes, each little label like a small painting. There is a long, rectangular table with a red-and-white-checked tablecloth and short fat wine bottles with candles stuck in them. When Jim and Mother and Sister and I sit down at it, the table seems particularly large.

  I like to get to a party early, says Mother, stretching her arms along the table like she’s trying to take up more space.

  Rita comes in then wearing a very tight dress with very high heels, so she has to take very small steps. She has an apron on and looks hot.

  Why, you look like you’ve been cooking, says Sister, jumping up to help Rita with a stack of plates.

  That’s the idea, says Rita. But don’t worry.

  She hugs and kisses me. My girl. Another birthday. Time is escaping me.

  Hi, Miss Rita, I say.

  Do you still love pizza? she asks.

  She’s eleven, says Jim. She hasn’t lost her marbles.

  Mother looks at the door and at the tiny little watch she sometimes wears, then smiles at me. I don’t think Elizabeth is going to come.

  Look at us, says Sister. Like the old days. The original gang.

  I try to smile at her.

  Then Rita’s head tilts like a squirrel and she runs out of the room. My stomach flutters.

  Willkommen! Willkommen! Rita is saying, and Jim shoots me a worried look.

  C’mon, he says. I think they’re here.

  The LaFontaines are standing in the main room of the club staring at the walls, which are covered with photographs of tall glamorous women like Rita, posing in front of the giant silver star on the back of the stage. Without the stage ligh
ts on, the star looks to be made of tinfoil. Elizabeth runs to me, we hug, and I tell her I didn’t think she would come and she says, Me neither. We’ve been sitting in the car out front for fifteen minutes.

  Why?

  Fighting, she says, wiggling her finger back and forth at her parents.

  Jim ushers everybody into the back room, making a lot of noise about pizza! And cake! Mother is standing next to the table, her hand resting on the back of the chair. When the LaFontaines enter she extends her arms.

  Our friends, she says in her stage voice. Mr. LaFontaine is jovial. Mrs. LaFontaine nods hello and looks around, her lips squeezed.

  Why, you look absolutely lovely, Mother says to her, and Mrs. LaFontaine tries to smile.

  Hi, sir! Elizabeth yells to Sister.

  Mrs. LaFontaine says, Elizabeth!

  All the kids call us “sir,” says Sister. We find it amusing. Well, most of us.

  Everybody sit now! I do not want my gourmet dinner getting cold! Rita wiggles out of the room, returning with a stack of pizza boxes and two bottles of wine in one hand.

  As we examine the different pies, Mrs. LaFontaine looks around and says, A most interesting choice for a child’s birthday party.

  I look to Mother, watch her wheels spin fast.

  She finally says, Isn’t it just dreadful? Then she leans forward on the table. Oh, well, I may as well tell you. The girls here gave me my first break. Put me on that sad little stage there when I was just a timid young thing. This is where it all started for me. She leans back, gestures at the room, and shrugs. But I believe we should never forget where we came from, I do. And how far we’ve come. Don’t you agree?

  Mrs. LaFontaine looks at her like she’s just been beat at jacks and takes a deep breath in through her nose. She is about to say something when Mr. LaFontaine jumps in.

  A valid position, he says, and raises the glass of red wine Rita has poured him. Here’s to humble beginnings!

  With all due respect, Mrs. LaFontaine says to Mother quietly, I do not believe you have the vaguest idea what humble beginnings truly look like.

  Here here! says Mr. LaFontaine.

  Here here! says Jim.

  Rita sets two beautiful Shirley Temples down in front of us.