Ashes of Roses

by MJ Auch

  We had a wonderful lunch. Rose Bellini was a little on the quiet side, probably because Rose Klein didn’t hardly let her get a word in. Rose Klein seemed to know everything that was going on in New York and told me more about herself in twenty minutes than I’d learned about my own self in my whole lifetime. She had three boyfriends, and none of them knew about the others. One of them wasn’t even Jewish, which she said her father would kill her for if he found out. I knew I should be shocked by all this. Rose Klein was exactly the kind of girl Ma would tell me to avoid, but there was somethin’ about her laugh and the mischievous sparkle in her eyes that made me want to hear more of her scandalous tales.

  “So what about you, Rose Nolan?” she asked. “Have you broken any hearts lately?”

  I could feel myself blushin’. “Oh, no. I don’t even know any boys in America.”

  Rose Klein winked. “Well, we’ll have to change that, won’t we? I’m working on finding a beau for Rose, too. Rose Bellini, that is.” She leaned back and pinned up a stray lock of hair. “This is too confusing, with three Roses. Why don’t we just go by our last names? Klein, Nolan, and Bellini.”

  “Makes us sound like a vaudeville act,” Bellini offered, and we all laughed.

  Klein leaned forward. “Bellini here could be on the vaudeville stage if she wanted to. She sings like an angel.”

  Bellini blushed. “Oh, Rose, you know my family would disown me if I ever tried such a thing.”

  Klein shook her head. “It’s a great waste. By the way, the name’s Klein.”

  Bellini giggled. “Sorry. I forgot.”

  * * *

  The afternoon went much faster, now that I had a couple of friends sittin’ right across from me. And I wouldn’t have to be so dependent on Gussie. She was a nice person and all, but I was glad to have some chums who weren’t so serious all the time.

  I could hardly wait to get to work the next mornin’ to hear all the gossip and jokin’ in the dressin’ room. Klein convinced Bellini to sing a new song, “Every Little Movement Has a Meaning All Its Own.” Her voice was clear as a bell. We had a lot of singers in our family back home, but I’d never heard the likes of her before. Everybody cheered when she finished.

  When I got to my machine, Gussie was already there, threadin’ her needle. “I thought you got lost.”

  “I was just in the dressing room. You should have heard Bellini sing.”

  “Who?”

  “Rose Bellini. She and Rose Klein and I all call each other by our last names, on account of us all bein’ named Rose. Here they come now.”

  “They don’t pay you to be singing and fooling around,” Gussie said, not lookin’ up.

  Klein heard Gussie’s remark and made a face, then winked. I didn’t want to be disloyal to Gussie, but I did wish she’d loosen up once in a while.

  That day at lunch, Klein was talkin’ about the latest book she had read. “How about you, Nolan?” she asked. “Have you read any good dime novels lately?”

  “I don’t know what a dime novel is,” I said.

  Klein put her hands on her hips. “Knock me down and call me dead! You mean to tell me you’ve never read a dime novel?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, I guess you can be excused, because you’re new in the country. Wait here.” She ran over to the dressin’ room and came back with a small paperback book. “You may take this home with you, but I want it back. I’m collecting these.”

  “Oh, The Heiress of Cameron Hill,” Bellini said. “That’s a good one. Helena, the heroine, is a working girl just like us. She’s so brave. Right in the very beginning of the book she’s been laid off, so she—”

  Klein interrupted her. “Don’t tell her the whole story. You’ll take all the suspense out of it.”

  I thumbed through the pages of the book. I’d never had a book that I could take home to read just for the fun of it. “I’ll take good care of it,” I said, slippin’ it into my purse.

  “You know what we should do this weekend?” Klein said. “We should go to the nickelodeon, just the three of us. We could go right after work on Saturday.”

  “Oh, let’s do,” Bellini said. “The Lonedale Operator is playing at the Strand. That’s about a working girl, too. She’s a telegraph operator. I’ve been wanting to see it.”

  Klein looked at me. “What do you say, Nolan? You have been to the nickelodeon, haven’t you? Surely the movies have reached Ireland.”

  “I’ve never seen one,” I admitted, “but I’d love to go. Of course, I’ll have to check to see if it’s all right.”

  “Check with who?” Bellini asked. “You have no parents here, do you?”

  “There’s my younger sister. I have to keep track of her when I’m not workin’. She’s been givin’ me some trouble lately.”

  “Have her meet you here when work is out,” Klein said. “She can come with us.”

  “Well,” I said, “I’m sure she’d enjoy it, but I don’t know if I should spend the money.”

  Klein folded up her lunch bag and brushed the crumbs from her skirt. “Nonsense. You work hard for your pay. You should get to enjoy some of it. After all, you only live once, Nolan, and life is short at that. You could be run down by a horse cart tomorrow and die never having seen a movie.” She grinned. “Now, that would be a real tragedy.”

  “All right,” I said. “I guess it’s high time I started to enjoy myself.” I thought maybe Maureen would be less of a problem if she started havin’ some fun, too.

  When I got back to my machine, I felt a warm glow. I was excited about my new life, and I finally had somethin’ to write to Ma about. For the first time, I was somebody. I was Rose Nolan, American workin’ girl.

  24

  At the end of the day, I waited for Gussie in the dressing room. She was busy talkin’ to some of the girls. I didn’t have to hear her to know she was tryin’ to convince them to join the union. She kept slappin’ her right index finger on her left palm to emphasize the points she was makin’. I was surprised that she looked so much older than the other girls, because I knew she was only eighteen. Gussie could be called pretty, but she was always so earnest, she had made a permanent crease between her brows, addin’ ten years to her face.

  I knew Gussie had little interest in what she called frivolous things, but it wouldn’t hurt her to spend more time on her appearance. With a little effort, her wonderful thick brown hair could be coaxed into a modern style. I wanted to try the new Gibson Girl hairdo that many of the girls wore, with the hair all puffed out on the sides and gathered into a bun at the top of the head. Maybe Gussie and I could help each other try new hairdos at home. That way I wouldn’t have to say anything about how her style was unbecomin’ and hurt her feelings. And maybe I could convince her to go out to the nickelodeon with us. I’d soften up Gussie yet. She deserved fun as much as the next girl.

  Klein came over to me. “So you’ve survived your first three days at the Triangle, Nolan. How does it feel to be earning a living?”

  “It’s wonderful. I had no idea workin’ could be so much fun.”

  “It’ll be even more fun when you get your first pay envelope.” She buttoned up the bright-red coat that cinched in to show off her tiny waist. Her hat was adorned with at least half a dozen matchin’ red roses. She noticed me lookin’ at the hat. “You like it?” She twirled around so I could see it from all sides. “The hat was perfectly plain when I got it. Then I bought the roses from a cart on Hester Street for ten cents.”

  “It’s nice,” I said. “I guess I should get somethin’ more fashionable.”

  She looked at the shapeless wool cap I wore and winked. “I was going to suggest that. We’ll go shopping together after you get paid a week from Saturday. I know how to make your money go a long way. Let’s get out of this place.”

  “I have to wait for Gussie.”

  Klein wrinkled her nose. “She can get home by herself. Besides, I don’t want to walk with her. I’ve almost saved up e
nough to buy new shoes with French heels, but she’ll want me to give it up for union dues. Come on.”

  It didn’t seem right to leave Gussie behind, since she was the one who got me the job and all. But then I decided Gussie had business to attend to and probably wouldn’t even miss me.

  Bellini joined us as we headed for the stairs. When we got outside, the three of us walked arm in arm toward Washington Square. They were singin’ some new song at the top of their lungs. When I didn’t know the words, they switched to “My Wild Irish Rose.”

  “Surely you know this one,” Klein said. I did, even though it was an American song rather than an Irish one. It had made its way across the ocean and was bein’ sung in Limerick before we left. I joined in with gusto. We followed the semicircular sidewalk that cut off the corner of the park. When we got to West Broadway and Washington Square South, Bellini unlinked arms with me. “Here’s where I leave you. See you tomorrow.” She skipped backward a few steps and waved to us before runnin’ to catch up with a large group of girls headin’ west.

  “Where does she live?” I asked.

  “On Grove Street in the West Village. Lots of the Italian girls live around there. Where are you heading, by the way?”

  “I’m on Sullivan Street, near Broome.”

  Klein smiled. “We’re practically neighbors. I’m on Spring. Want to walk together in the morning?”

  “I guess I should go in with Gussie,” I said. “We leave the apartment at the same time.”

  “Ah, yes,” Klein said. “We don’t want to cross Gussie, do we?”

  I thought she was serious, but then she laughed and launched into the plot of the movie she’d seen at the nickelodeon the week before. What a story! A young workin’ girl who had so many misfortunes, ye thought she’d never survive, but she managed to triumph in the end and marry the rich factory-owner. I was so caught up in the story, the blocks fairly flew by until Klein said, “Here’s where I say goodbye, unless you’re coming home with me. You’re welcome to do that, but my mother is a noodge. She’ll drive you mad.”

  “My mother can be a noodge at times, too,” I said, and Klein laughed at hearin’ me use a Yiddish word.

  I got thinkin’ about Ma on the way home. Klein and Bellini both lived with their families. How perfect it would be to have Ma and Da here. I could come home every day bubblin’ over with stories from work. And Da would have some political job and go around in a nice suit and hat like Uncle Patrick, instead of wearin’ the ratty old clothes he wore when he delivered coal. When I was younger, Da sometimes let me ride along with him on his coal route. Even when we went across Sarsfield Bridge to some of the big houses off the Ennis Road, I could tell that Da’s customers liked him. He could be covered with coal dust from head to foot, but people treated him with respect. Da had a way with people. He’d make a good politician—as good as Uncle Patrick. Ma could dress up and go visitin’ like Elsa, then make fancy dresses at home. I looked at some of the buildings along the way, tryin’ to picture what it would be like to live in one of them with my whole family and have a real home again.

  Maureen was in her usual grumpy mood when I got back to the apartment, but today I had a way to cheer her up. “Ye’ll never guess where we’re going Saturday, after I get out of work,” I said. This got her interest, and she forgot to stick out her lower lip.

  “Where?”

  “To the nickelodeon.”

  “Really? Oh, Rose, do ye mean it?”

  It seemed good to see Maureen smile for a change. “I surely do. But I don’t want to hear any complaints about school for the rest of the week, is that clear? And I want ye to work hard at your studies.” I put my purse on the table and sat down.

  “Oh, I will, Rose! I will.”

  “I’m goin’ to write to Ma now, so leave me be.”

  “Maybe ye should wait till after we go to the nickelodeon. Ma would like to hear about that.”

  Just then the door opened and Gussie came in. “I looked all over for you. Where did you go?”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “Ye were busy talkin’ to people, so I left.”

  Gussie took off her coat and hung it on a hook. “That’s fine, but next time let me know you’re leaving. I wasn’t sure you knew the way home.”

  Maureen was fairly burstin’. She grabbed Gussie’s hands and spun her around. “Gussie, Rose says we’re goin’ to the nickelodeon on Saturday.” Then she stopped and looked down. “What’s that funny noise yer shoes are makin’?”

  Gussie sat down and crossed her legs to show Maureen her shoe. “My heel was broken and I got it repaired. The cobbler put in a steel plate. See? It should last forever, and it only cost five cents. The same price as your nickelodeon.”

  Maureen wrinkled her nose. “It may last forever, but it’s ugly. Besides, it makes ye clump. I’d rather spend my five cents on the nickelodeon any day.”

  Gussie rolled her eyes. “It must run in the family.” She looked over Maureen’s head at me. “You do know we have to work on Saturday, don’t you?”

  “Yes. We’re goin’ after work. Maureen will come over and meet us.”

  Gussie raised her eyebrows. “Us?”

  “Rose Klein and Rose Bellini and me. Well … and you, too, Gussie. I was plannin’ to ask ye first thing.”

  Gussie poured hot water from the kettle into the teapot. “You needn’t include me in your plans. I don’t have time for nickelodeons. You shouldn’t be wasting your money on that nonsense, either. Or on this.” She pointed to the copy of The Heiress of Cameron Hill that was stickin’ out of my purse.

  “I didn’t buy that. Rose Klein lent it to me.”

  “Rose Klein doesn’t have the good sense God gave her.” Gussie went over to a makeshift shelf and pulled out a heavy book. “If you want something worthwhile to read, try this.” She plunked a heavy leather-bound copy of Women in Industry on the table in front of me.

  I flipped through the first few pages. “Ye’ll have to forgive me, Gussie, but this doesn’t have the same appeal to me.”

  Gussie folded her arms. “It might be a bit dry, but if you want to learn about working women, you can put up with it.”

  I held up my dime novel. “But this is about a workin’ girl, too. And they make it exciting by puttin’ it in the form of a story.”

  “That’s nothing but a fairy tale. The poor girl wins the rich hero in the end, and only because it turns out she’s been an heiress all along and didn’t know it.”

  “Ah, so ye read it, did ye?”

  “I didn’t have to read it,” Gussie said. “They’re all alike. They just change the name of the girl and what kind of work she does. And it makes it sound like the only thing young girls think about is love and romance.”

  Hearin’ those words, Maureen slipped the book out of my purse and took it into our room. I didn’t reprimand her. At least it might keep her out of our hair for a bit. There were things I wanted to say to Gussie, and I didn’t need Maureen puttin’ in her two cents’ worth.

  “Well, thanks for spoilin’ the whole story for me,” I said. “Don’t ye ever do anything just for fun, Gussie? Would it kill ye to laugh once in a while?”

  Gussie sighed, soundin’ for all the world like Ma. “I’d like to have time for fun, Rose, but there’s too much work to be done.”

  “Work is over for today. What’s the use of earnin’ money if you don’t ever take time to enjoy yerself?”

  “I’m not talking about work at the Triangle. I want to make conditions better for everybody, no matter where they work.”

  “Aw, Gussie. Why is it always the blasted union? Yer mind is like an engine that only runs on one track.”

  Gussie leaned on the table, puttin’ her at eye level with me. “You want to know why I care so much about the union, Rose? It’s because of Papa. When he came to this country just eight years ago, he was strong and bright, a fine tailor. But, as skilled as he was, he couldn’t make much money in Russia. He wanted better for our family.
We all heard about how good things were in America.”

  “Where does he work now?” I asked. I’d never seen any evidence that Mr. Garoff had a job.

  “He worked at various places in the needle trades, mostly small sweatshops. They were cold and damp in the winter, stifling hot in the summer, all with poor light. He finally scraped together enough money to send for me. I was the oldest, so I could earn money to help bring Mama and my sisters over. But by the time I got here, Papa’s eyesight had failed so much, he couldn’t see the stitches anymore. Then he tried to be a presser, but he didn’t have the stamina to lift the heavy iron all day. He was out sick so often, he kept losing jobs.”

  “That’s awful,” I said. “I had no idea.”

  Gussie sank heavily into a chair. “Papa is a proud man. He still tries to get jobs, but nobody will hire him anymore. He can’t admit even to himself that I’m supporting him instead of the other way around. I’m saving up to bring the family over, but with only me working, it’s taking a long time.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, “but things aren’t that bad at the Triangle. It’s a nice place to work.”

  “The Triangle owners don’t recognize the union. When they have us work overtime, they don’t give us extra pay. They just give everyone a piece of pie for supper, and we’re supposed to be grateful. Do you know what they did while we were out on strike? They brought in music and had dance contests during the lunch break for the scab workers. The foolish girls thought they were being treated well. Those dance contests stopped right away when the regular workers came back. Then everything went on as if the strike never had happened.”

  “Well, I suppose it isn’t right, but I have no complaints. And I know it’s crowded and all, but I have all the space I need.”

  Gussie slapped the table. “Rose, wake up! They’re cheating us. The law says there has to be two hundred and fifty cubic feet of space for each worker. The Triangle gets around that because of the high ceilings. They have the right number of cubic feet for each of us, but it’s all above our heads. What good is that? We’re jammed in hip to hip at the floor level. You may not mind it now, but wait till you see how it feels in the heat of July.”