by Renée Rosen
So far we’d made it through Great Expectations, This Side of Paradise and Sister Carrie. We had a long way to go.
The following day, after Shep had left for the Meridian, I wandered around the apartment, roaming from the bedroom to the living room to the kitchen and back to the bedroom again. I never would have thought it was possible, but now that I didn’t have to work anymore, I was bored.
Fortunately, that day I had a distraction: I was meeting Dora for lunch. One thing about Dora and the others—they were very big on lunching. And shopping. It seemed as though that was all I’d done since I’d become Mrs. Shep Green.
• • •
Dora was looking smart as usual when I met her at a tearoom down on Adams and LaSalle. Her blond hair was held in place with a beautiful ivory comb, and the pale pink frock she wore made her baby blues more luminous than ever. Unlike Basha and Cecelia, who looked and talked like gun molls no matter what, Dora knew how to tone it down. She was ambidextrous when it came to dipping in and out of both worlds.
The tearoom however was decidedly art deco, with black onyx tables and cobalt blue and gold mosaic tiles lining the walls. Nearly every table was taken, occupied by wealthy women who, like me, didn’t need to work or worry that a simple finger sandwich and a cup of soup cost two dollars. Dora and I sat at a corner table in oversize chairs with silk cushions. A bud vase with a fresh daisy served as the centerpiece.
“You’re looking just swell,” Dora said after we were situated. “How are you feeling?”
“So far so good. At least there’s no more morning sickness.” I opened my menu and scanned the entrées.
Dora sighed, setting her menu aside. “Oh, what I wouldn’t give for a little morning sickness.”
“Yeah, that’s what you think.”
“I’m serious. Knuckles and I have been trying for years.”
“Really? You?” I didn’t know why this surprised me. I closed my menu.
“Well, sure. What woman wouldn’t want a baby?”
I opened my menu again and changed the subject.
Halfway through lunch the woman at the next table removed a series of miniature perfume bottles from a crocodile attaché case. She carefully uncapped each one and took turns dabbing a bit onto the wrists and forearms of her two companions.
“I can’t believe she’s selling Little Dot in here,” I whispered, leaning forward.
“It is tacky,” said Dora, smoothing her thumb across her shiny red nails. “But, you know, it’s never a bad idea for a woman to have her own money.”
“I suppose, if you’re single.”
“Not necessarily.” She hiked up her eyebrows and leaned forward on her elbows. “I hope you don’t mind if I give you a little piece of advice.”
“You’re not going to suggest I go out and sell perfume, are you?” I smiled.
“I’m serious.” She leaned in further, letting her diamond necklace sway back and forth like a pendulum. “You’re married now. You’ve got a good man who brings home good money. But take it from me, start putting a little stash aside for yourself.”
“Oh, I don’t need to do that. Shep’s always been generous with me.”
“This isn’t about generosity.” She sat back in her chair and dabbed her mouth with her napkin. Her ruby red lipstick was still perfect. “Trust me on this. Our husbands aren’t ordinary working stiffs. You need to have your own money. If something happens to Shep, you’ll have to fend for yourself.”
A sense of dread crept over my shoulders, but I used that trick I’d learned from my mother and swept it aside, telling myself that Shep was strong and smart and wouldn’t let anything happen to him.
“You just never know.” She signaled the waiter and placed a ten-dollar bill on the table. “It’s something Cecelia told me when I married Knuckles, and I never forgot it. Every week Knuckles gives me spending money and the first fifty, right off the top, goes into my own pocket. Just in case.” She crossed herself as soon as she said it.
A BLUFF OR THE BULL’S-EYE
I knew something was wrong with Evelyn. We were supposed to take in the new Buster Keaton moving picture, Sherlock Jr., but she’d telephoned at the last minute to say she wasn’t feeling well. I could tell she’d been crying, so as soon as we hung up, I jumped on the el and went straight to the rooming house.
When I first stepped inside what was once my room, I glanced around, wondering how I’d managed in such a small space. You could fit four of these rooms inside Shep’s living room alone. It was the end of July, sweltering outside, and she had the only window in the room closed. She didn’t even have a fan running.
“Aren’t you hot in here?” I asked, and when she didn’t respond, I opened the window anyway.
Evelyn’s new roommate was out so I went and sat on her bed, running my fingers along her crocheted and embroidered spread. Two bath towels, one blue, the other beige, hung on the hooks near the door and I ached a little thinking of Evelyn dragging her soap and toothbrush and that blue towel to the bathroom down the hall.
Evelyn was on her bed, lying on her stomach with her ankles crisscrossed. She was reading a fashion magazine and without looking up, she asked what I was doing there.
“You sounded upset on the phone. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
“I’m fine.” She looked up from her Vogue and I saw the bruise on her cheek, swollen reddish purple and spreading a good four inches across her face.
“Jesus, God! What happened to you?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.” She squinted as if she were staring into a beam of sunlight. “Is that dress new?”
“Don’t say it’s nothing. What happened? Did Izzy do this to you?”
“It’s nothing. I bumped into the door.”
“Baloney.”
Evelyn got up, tossed her magazine on the dresser and burst into tears.
“Did you two have another fight? He did this to you, didn’t he?”
She nodded and sank down onto her bed. “It all started because I took him home to meet my family.”
“Are you crazy? You took him home?” If my mother hated Shep, there was no way Mr. and Mrs. Schulman were going to approve of Izzy Seltzer.
“I had to.” She blew her nose carefully, so as not to bump her swollen cheek. “I told my sister Reba about Izzy and she went and told my parents.” Evelyn brought her hand to her bruised cheek. “They said they needed to meet him—” She choked on a fresh round of tears. “My father said Izzy was no good. Said he was to blame for me cutting my hair and dressing like a vamp. I don’t dress like a vamp, do I?”
“No, not at all. You’re right in style. Your father doesn’t appreciate fashion, is all.”
“He said I couldn’t see Izzy anymore, and that if I did, not to bother coming home again.”
“Oh, no. So you broke it off with Izzy?”
“No.” She wiped her hand across her nose. “I left. I said good-bye to my mother and I left with Izzy. We’re walking out the door and my father calls after me, telling me I’m dead to him, and starts reciting the mourner’s kaddish. I feel like I’ve been disowned.”
“Oh, Ev . . .” I couldn’t make her see that Izzy wasn’t worth it. I’d heard him call her names, and I’d seen him gawk at other women, even in front of Evelyn. She’d pretend not to notice, and it drove me crazy.
Evelyn blew her nose again and shook her head. “After we left—that’s when Izzy went nuts. He started hollering and then . . . I don’t know what happened. He just snapped and then he hit me.”
“I’ll kill him. I swear I will.”
“No, Vera.” Evelyn shook her head. “It’s okay. I just . . . It was my fault.”
“How was this possibly your fault?”
“He didn’t want to meet my parents. He told me he didn’t want to go but I made him. I begged him to.”
I put my arm around her and hugged her to my side. “Ah, Evelyn, you have to stop doing this to yourself.”
“Doin
g what?” She sniffled.
I turned and brushed her hair aside, careful of her bruise as I tucked a lock behind her ear. “You always take the blame for everyone else.”
“No, I don’t. Not really.”
“C’mon, Ev.” I gave her a look and cocked my eyebrow. “You took the blame for every one of your sisters. Reba left the bathroom a mess and you said you did it. Marlene left dirty dishes in the sink and you’d say it was you. Why did you always do that? Was that just so they’d let you tag along with them?”
“I didn’t always do that. Not always . . .”
“You even did it with me. You always took the heat. Remember the time we got caught sneaking into the movie house? Or what about the time we got caught pinching lipsticks from the five-and-dime? I talked you into it and you said it was all your idea.”
“I just . . .” Even she couldn’t explain it.
“And now here you are again, blaming yourself for the way Izzy treats you. Don’t you see? You deserve so much better.”
She hung her head and started to cry.
Was this the price for a lifetime of hand-me-downs, of watching her older sisters get the new dresses and toys? It was her sisters whose piano and dance recitals her parents attended, not Evelyn’s. It wasn’t that her parents didn’t love Evelyn, but after already raising four daughters, it seemed as if Mr. and Mrs. Schulman were just plain tired by the time she came around. She once told me that the only thing she ever had that was brand-new was her bicycle. I could still picture it parked on their front lawn next to the four others belonging to her older sisters.
Evelyn wiped her nose with her sleeve and sniffled some more. “I don’t know what gets into Izzy sometimes. You’ve heard the things he says to me. But then, you know, when it’s just the two of us, he’s real sweet. He tells me I’m pretty. And he doesn’t even mind that my chest is so big.” She sniffled some more. “But when we’re around other people he thinks he’s a big shot if he can boss me around and make me look like a fool.”
“He’s a snake. You could do a lot better for yourself than Izzy Seltzer.”
“But I love him. You don’t understand—I really do love him!”
“This isn’t love, Evelyn.”
• • •
I stayed with Evelyn until she had fallen asleep and as soon as she was out, I headed over to the Meridian in search of Izzy.
When I walked inside the club, the driving beat of the Stompin’ Juniors had the dance floor packed. Shep was seated at the end of the bar, nursing his whiskey, looking over the place.
“Dollface!” He lit up when he saw me, and kissed my cheek. “This is a nice surprise. I thought you were going to the movie house with Evelyn.”
“Change of plans.” I set my pocketbook on the bar. “Is Izzy around?”
“Izzy? Yeah, he’s here somewhere. Hey,” Shep called to the barkeeper. “Let’s get a bourbon over here for my gal.” He smiled, pulled out the stool next to him and gave it a pat.
I sat down and scanned the floor for Izzy. Table lamps glowed from all corners of the room. A couple seated up front swayed in time with the music, while a raucous party of four next to them clinked their glasses in a group toast.
Shep said something while I absentmindedly glanced at the square containers behind the bar filled with olives, syrupy maraschino cherries, lemon and lime wedges. Glasses resting upside down were lined up two rows deep. The bartender smiled, making a show of pouring a thin stream of amber liquor into a lowball glass for me.
“Hey,” Shep said, placing his hand on my arm, “I asked if you’re okay.”
“I’m sorry, what?” I had just spotted Izzy standing off to the side, talking to a blonde with a violet feather headdress protruding from her hair. The bartender had barely set my glass down before I grabbed it and took a big, burning gulp.
“What’s the matter with you?” Shep asked. “You seem upset.”
“What’s he doing over there?” I gestured toward Izzy. He was sliding his fingers up and down the blonde’s arm.
“Aw, just ignore him.”
I took another pull from my drink. “Evelyn should keep him on a leash like the dog that he is.”
“She’s just a girl from the club. She doesn’t mean anything. You know how Izzy is.”
I kept my attention on my drink and as soon as Shep got called away to the back room, I went over to Izzy and the blonde.
I tapped him on the shoulder. “Can I have a word with you?”
Izzy motioned to the blonde. “Give me a minute, will ya, hon?”
She wasn’t out of earshot before I lashed into him. “What do you think you’re doing? You slap Evelyn around and then start snuggling up to someone else?”
“Whoa—take it easy. Just slow down. What are you talking about?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. And if you ever lay a hand on Evelyn again, I swear, I’ll kill you.”
“You’re making a lot of assumptions here. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never slapped Evelyn.”
“There’s no point in denying it. You should see her face! I know all about you, Izzy.”
His eyes turned to narrow beams and I saw something cold and mean and evil lurking inside. With a smirk he said, “Well, I guess I could say the same about you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about.” He stepped closer to me and it took all my will not to retreat. I could smell the cigarettes and whiskey on his breath. My pulse was doing double time. “You may have Shep wrapped around your little finger, but you don’t fool me for a minute. I know all about you, Vera. So if I were you, I’d watch my step.”
I forced myself to meet his gaze, not to flinch or back down. He didn’t know anything about Tony. He had to be bluffing. Wasn’t he?
We were at a standoff. Izzy wasn’t about to crack.
Finally, I mustered the words, barely managing to keep my voice even. “Don’t threaten me, Izzy.”
“Then don’t push me and we’ll get along just fine.”
I turned and walked away, the clicking of my heels sounding off as I stormed the stairs and headed for the ladies’ lounge. My heart was racing and I’d broken out in a cold sweat. I splashed water on my face and sat on the bench in the corner smoking a cigarette, one deep puff after another. Each time the door opened, my insides jumped. It took another cigarette and another ten minutes before my pulse settled down and I was able to go back downstairs and face Shep.
JUST LIKE NORMAL
Did Izzy have anything on me? I doubted it. Tony and I had spent most of our time in his hotel room. When we did go out, it was always on the south side of town. And after I’d started dating Shep again, we were always discreet. But still, the threat of Izzy lingered. I couldn’t forget him saying, “I know all about you, Vera. So if I were you, I’d watch my step.” His words were circling inside my head just as Shep called to me from the other room.
“You’re not using my razor again, are you?”
“Um . . . what? I can’t hear you.” I was in the bathroom and could hear him perfectly well, but it was too late. I was already shaving my legs in the sink. After I ran his razor under the tap and wiped the blade dry, I switched legs. It was getting harder and harder to lift my foot to the ledge of the sink now that my belly was ripening.
When I was finished, I went into the bedroom and found Shep standing in his BVDs with sock garters hugging his calves. He held up a towel. “How many times do I have to tell you not to leave your wet towels lying around on the furniture?”
I lowered my head and raised my eyes. “Where’d I leave that one?”
“On the bed.”
I went over and took the towel from him. “Oh, it’s not even wet.”
“It’s damp. And you left it on a silk bedcover. How hard can it be to hang it up when you’re done with it?” He grabbed the towel from my hand, ratted it up, and gave me a playful snap along my bottom.
“You think I’m a slob, don’t you?”
“Oh, I know you’re a slob.” He laughed and snapped the towel at me again as I darted to the closet.
Sorting through my clothes, scooting hangers this way and that, I muttered, “Where is that dress . . . ? I just saw it. . . .”
“I don’t know how you expect to find anything in there.” Shep pulled a pair of trousers from under the mattress and stepped into them, hoisting them onto his hips. He always kept his pants there overnight so they’d be nice and creased for him the next day.
I turned back to the closet. You could tell which half belonged to Shep. His shirts and trousers, suits and neckties were hanging straight and neat, all hangers going in the same direction, shoes lined up on the floor, standing two by two. My half was packed with skirts and dresses jutting out. My high heels were kicked off all over the place, wadded-up stockings here and there, a hat or two that had toppled off the shelf that I’d never bothered to pick up.
Shep went into the bathroom and a few minutes later he marched back in with his razor in his hand and two scraps of blood-soaked toilet paper stuck to his chin. “I don’t believe it! You did it! You used my razor again.”
“Aw, Sheppy, it was just a quick touchup.” I looked at his chin and frowned. “And, c’mon, you want me to look nice tonight, don’t you?”
We were having dinner that evening with my friend from the rooming house and her husband. I had run into Barbara Lewis—Barbara Perl now—the week before on Chicago Avenue. She was on her way to a meeting for the Jewish Women’s Council.
“It’s a wonderful group of women,” she said. “You’d really like these girls. Harriet Wagner is a member, too. You should come join us sometime. We meet every week.” She said they worked for various Jewish charities, sponsored luncheons and held fund-raisers. It sounded mildly interesting, and I thought it would be a nice break from all the lunching and shopping I’d been doing with Dora and Basha.
Barbara and I had stood outside for the better part of twenty minutes, catching up. When I told her I was pregnant, she hugged me, congratulated me, and asked how far along I was.